CLOSE READING POEMS ABOUT BIRDS

Thomas Hardy

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

(1900)

Poets since antiquity have been fascinated by birds: their song, their looks, their flight, and their huge importance to the world’s ecosystems. In their natural state, they are independent. Some are wild, some domesticated, some exploited. Birds are often much-valued companions to human beings, and they offer a different perspective on our world and its landscapes.

In this short course, we will explore some of the great poems written across the centuries about birds.

These sessions are suitable for newcomers as well as those experienced in close reading as we explore together ideas of language, form, sound and imagery in these poems.

Two sessions, Sundays 29 November and 6 December 2026
2.00-4.00 pm British Time (GMT)
3.00-5.00 pm Central European Time
Morning in the Americas
Late night in Japan

Course fees

£86.00 full price
£80.00 CAMcard holders
£80.00 students or pensioners on a low income

Please note: because these classes are mainly discussion, we do not record them.

To book, please scroll down and click on the orange button below.

The Owl

by Edward Thomas (1878-1917) 

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved; 
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof 
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest 
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof. 

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, 
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I. 
All of the night was quite barred out except 
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry 

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill, 
No merry note, nor cause of merriment, 
But one telling me plain what I escaped 
And others could not, that night, as in I went. 

And salted was my food, and my repose, 
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice 
Speaking for all who lay under the stars, 
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

(Written February 1915)

Jackdaw photo: cyanotype by Deborah Parkin.