Explore "Lob" by Edward Thomas on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling In search of something chance would never bring, An old man's face, by life and weather cut And coloured -- rough, brown, sweet as any nut -- A land face, sea-blue-eyed -- hung in my mind When I had left him many a mile behind.
All he said was: "Nobody can't stop 'ee. It's A footpath, right enough. You see those bits Of mounds -- that's where they opened up the barrows Sixty years since, while I was scaring sparrows.