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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Chalk-Pit</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is this the road that climbs above and bends<br>Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is<br>By accident an amphitheatre.<br>Some ash trees standing ankle-deep in briar<br>And bramble act the parts, and neither speak<br>Nor stir,' 'But see: they have fallen, every one,<br>And briar and bramble have grown over them.'<br>'That is the place. As usual no one is here.<br>Hardly can I imagine the drop of the axe,<br>And the smack that is like an echo, sounding here.'<br>'I do not understand.' 'Why, what I mean is<br>That I have seen the place two or three times<br>At most, and that its emptiness and silence<br>And stillness haunt me, as if just before<br>It was not empty, silent, still, but full<br>Of life of some kind, perhaps tragical.<br>Has anything unusual happened here?'<br>'Not that I know of. It is called the Dell.<br>They have not dug chalk here for a century.<br>That was the ash trees' age. But I will ask.'<br>'No. Do not. I prefer to make a tale,<br>Or better leave it like the end of a play,<br>Actors and audience and lights all gone;<br>For so it looks now. In my memory<br>Again and again I see it, strangely dark,<br>And vacant of a life but just withdrawn.<br>We have not seen the woodman with the axe.<br>Some ghost has left it now as we two came,'<br>'And yet you doubted if this were the road?'<br>'Well, sometimes I have thought of it and failed<br>To place it. No. And I am not quite sure,<br>Even now, this is it. For another place,<br>Real or painted, may have combined with it.<br>Or I myself a long way back in time…'<br>'Why, as to that, I used to meet a man -<br>I had forgotten, - searching for birds' nests<br>Along the road and in the chalk-pit too.<br>The wren's hole was an eye that looked at him<br>For recognition. Every nest he knew.<br>He got a stiff neck, by looking this side or that,<br>Spring after spring, he told me, with his laugh -<br>A sort of laugh. He was a visitor,<br>A man of forty, - smoked and strolled about.<br>At orts and crosses Pleasure and Pain had played<br>On his brown features; - I think both had lost; -<br>Mild and yet wild too. You may know the kind.<br>And once or twice a woman shared his walks,<br>A girl of twenty with a brown boy's face,<br>And hair brown as a thrush or as a nut,<br>Thick eyebrows, glinting eyes -' 'You have said enough.<br>A pair, - free thought, free love, - I know the breed:<br>I shall not mix my fancies up with them.'<br>'You please yourself. I should prefer the truth<br>Or nothing. Here, in fact, is nothing at all<br>Except a silent place that once rang loud,<br>And trees and us - imperfect friends, we men<br>And trees since time began; and nevertheless<br>Between us we still breed a mystery.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+Thomas">Edward Thomas</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381243" data-title="The Chalk-Pit de Edward Thomas" data-description="Is this the road that climbs above and bends
Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is
By accident an amphitheatre.
Some ash trees standing ankle-deep in briar
And bramble act the parts, and neither speak
Nor stir,' 'But see: they have fallen, ev..."></div>
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