Digging

Digging
Edward Thomas

Today I think
Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of the tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry or goutweed
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke’s smell too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.
It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.