Robin

Today I think
Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield, 
And bracken, and wild carrots seed,
And the square mustard field;

Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry and 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's mirth.

Edward Thomas