Quote #16
I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.
More from Thomas Hardy
- When false things are brought low, And swift things have grown slow, Feigning like froth shall go, Faith be for aye.
- An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. So little caus…
- Whence comes solace? Not from seeing, What is doing, suffering, being; Not from noting Life's conditions, Not from heeding Time's monitions…
- The Earth, say'st thou? The Human race? By Me created? Sad its lot? Nay: I have no remembrance of such place: Such world I fashioned not.
- They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest Uncoffined - just as found: His landmark is a kopje-crest That breaks the veldt around; And foreign co…
- Here by the baring bough Raking up leaves, Often I ponder how Springtime deceives,- I, an old woman now, Raking up leaves.
- William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough, Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's, And the Squire, and Lady Susan, lie in Mel…
- Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You'd treat if met where any bar is, Or help to half-a-crown.