Fern Hill - Dylan Thomas

 

Fern Hill

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,

     The night above the dingle starry,

       Time let me hail and climb

     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,

And honored among wagons I was prince of the apple towns

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

       Trail with daisies and barley

     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns

About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,

     In the sun that is young once only,

       Time let me play and be

     Golden in the mercy of his means,

And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves

Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,

       And the sabbath rang slowly

     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay-

Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air

     And playing, lovely and watery

       And fire green as grass.

     And nightly under the simple stars

As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,

All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars

     Flying with the ricks, and the horses

       Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white

With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all

     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,

       The sky gathered again

     And the sun grew round that very day.

So it must have been after the birth of the simple light

In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm

     Out of the whinnying green stable

       On to the fields of praise.

And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house

Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,

     In the sun born over and over,

       I ran my heedless ways,

     My wishes raced through the house-high hay

And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows

In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs

     Before the children green and golden

       Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me

Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,

     In the moon that is always rising,

       Nor that riding to sleep

     I should hear him fly with the high fields

And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

       Time held me green and dying

     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

~ Dylan Thomas ~ 

BIO:  Dylan Marlais Thomas was born on October 27, 1914 in Swansea, South Wales. His father, an  English literature professor, recited Shakespeare to the young boy, instilling in him a lifelong love of poetry. At the age of 16, Thomas quit school and became a junior reporter for the South Wales Daily Post. In 1932, Thomas quit working to become a full-time poet, winning the Poet's Corner book prize in 1934. His first book, 18 Poems, was released to rave reviews. Thomas loved the poetry of Hopkins, Yeats, Poe, and D.H. Lawrence. Attracted to the ballads of the Romantic tradition, he wrote in lyrical rhythms that evoked deep emotions. He died of complications related to alcoholism on November 9, 1953 in New York City.