Archive for November 17th, 2021

Wednesday, 17 November 2021

Wood by Thomas Hornsby Ferril

There was a dark and awful wood
Where increments of death accrued
To every leaf and antlered head
Until it withered and was dead,
And lonely there I wandered
And wandered and wandered.

But once a myth-white moon shone there
And you were kneeling by a flower,
And it was practical and wise
For me to kneel and you to rise,
And me to rise and turn to go,
And you to turn and whisper no,
And seven wondrous stags that I
Could not believe walked slowly by.

From: Ferril, Thomas Hornsby, New and Selected Poems, 1952, Harper and Brothers, Publishers: New York, p. 19.

Date: 1944

By: Thomas Hornsby Ferril (1896-1988)