Edward Thomas

The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence.

Today I think Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot's seed, An the square mustard field; Odours that rise When the spade wounds the root of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubarb or celery;

As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.