 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
SHE HEARS THE STORM
There was a time in former years—
While my roof-tree was his—
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
While my roof-tree was his—
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
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I should have murmured anxiously,
“The pricking rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.”
“The pricking rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.”
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The candle slanting sooty wick'd,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves-drops on the window flicked,
The clacking garden-hatch,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves-drops on the window flicked,
The clacking garden-hatch,
And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |