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lirik lagu richard mitchley - edward thomas - old man

old man, or lad’s~love,—in the name there’s nothing
to one that knows not lad’s~love, or old man
the h~~r~green feathery herb, almost a tree
growing with rosemary and lavender
even to one that knows it well, the names
half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:
at least, what that is clings not to the names
in spite of time. and yet i like the names

the herb itself i like not, but for certain
i love it, as some day the child will love it
who plucks a feather from the door~side bush
whenever she goes in or out of the house
often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling
the shreds at last on to the path, perhaps
thinking, perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs
her fingers and runs off. the bush is still
but half as tall as she, though it is as old;
so well she clips it. not a word she says;
and i can only wonder how much hereafter
she will remember, with that bitter scent
of garden rows, and ancient damson~trees
topping a hedge, a bent path to a door
a low thick bush beside the door, and me
forbidding her to pick
as for myself
where first i met the bitter scent is lost
i, too, often shrivel the grey shreds
sniff them and think and sniff again and try
once more to think what it is i am remembering
always in vain. i cannot like the scent
yet i would rather give up others more sweet
with no meaning, than this bitter one

i have mislaid the key. i sniff the spray
and think of nothing; i see and i hear nothing;
yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
for what i should, yet never can, remember:
no garden appears, no path, no h~~r~green bush
of lad’s~love, or old man, no child beside
neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end

- lirik lagu richard mitchley

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