Fern Hill

 [ Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas ]

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,

     The night above the dingle starry,

          Time let me hail and climb

     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,

And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

          Trail with daisies and barley

     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns

About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,

     In the sun that is young once only,

          Time let me play and be

     Golden in the mercy of his means,

And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves

Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,

          And the sabbath rang slowly

     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay

Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air

     And playing, lovely and watery

          And fire green as grass.

     And nightly under the simple stars

As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,

All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars

     Flying with the ricks, and the horses

          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white

With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all

     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,

          The sky gathered again

     And the sun grew round that very day.

So it must have been after the birth of the simple light

In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm

     Out of the whinnying green stable

          On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house

Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,

     In the sun born over and over,

          I ran my heedless ways,

     My wishes raced through the house high hay

And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows

In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs

     Before the children green and golden

          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me

Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,

     In the moon that is always rising,

          Nor that riding to sleep

     I should hear him fly with the high fields

And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

          Time held me green and dying

     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Summary of Fern Hill 

Well, when I was young and relaxed under the branches of the apple trees that surrounded the happy house, and my happiness was as vivid as the intense green of the grass—as vivid as the night's stars over the valley's trees—time himself let me live, call out, and climb, watching as I thrived and flourished in the best days of my life. I was highly respected among the wagons and was the prince of the local towns full of apple orchards. Back then, I was like a king who made the trees and their leaves spread trails of daisy flowers and barley grass on the fields behind them, where the apples blown down by the wind were like a river of light.

And I was young, inexperienced, and had no responsibilities, I was a celebrity around the barns and in the joyful yard, and I sang all over the farm because it felt like home. Under the sun, which is young only once, time allowed me to play and feel golden—at least as far as his mercy and resources allowed. Young, inexperienced, and thriving, I was like a hunter or shepherd. When I blew my trumpet the young cows sang back to me and foxes on the nearby hill barked sharply. The sabbath—the holy day—seemed to ring out slowly from the pebbles in the streams, which seemed holy as well.

I'd spend the whole, lovely day running about. Farmers had stacks of hay as high as the house's roof, and the smoke from the chimneys was like a song. The days were full of fresh air and play, beautiful and flowing. The fire was as green as the grass. Every night under the stars I didn't just fall to sleep, I rode to sleep, and the owls seemed to carry the farm away with them as they took flight. All the moonlit night I could hear the blessed nightjars—nocturnal birds—near the horse stables, flying around the stacks of hay. Light gleamed on the horses' hair before they disappeared into darkness.

And then I would wake up. The farm seemed to return in that moment, like a wandering person shining with morning dew, a rooster on his shoulder. Everything was shining, in fact; it was like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The sky returned and the sun rose again, right then and there. This is what it must have been like when God created the world, making the first light over the spinning earth. The first horses would have been mesmerized by what had happened, walking out of their green stables, which were full of their neighing, and into the warmth, into the fields where everything was praising God.

I was also a celebrity among the foxes and the pheasants (a type of bird) near the happy house under the newly-formed clouds. My heart was filled with happiness, in the light of that sun that rose again and again. I ran without a care, all my desires running with me between the tall stacks of hay. And I didn't care at all—as I went about my tasks, which were blue as the sky—that time, with all his beautiful music, doesn't allow people to have very many songs of childhood. Soon, children, inexperienced and full of joy, have to follow time out of their innocence.

But I didn't care, in those days when I was innocent as a lamb, that time would lead me to the attic that was full of swallows (a type of bird), guiding me by my hand's shadow—all in the light of the moon that seems to keep rising and rising. And I didn't care that as I went to sleep I would hear time flying over the fields, and that when I woke up the farm would be gone and there would be no more children. Oh! When I was young and happy in the short childhood that I was granted, time embraced me, still young and inexperienced but already dying, even though I was locked in chains, singing like the sea.