 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
SEVENTY-FOUR AND TWENTY
Here goes a man of seventy-four,
Who sees not what life means for him,
And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.
Who sees not what life means for him,
And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.
The one who shall walk to-day with me
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy sire who cannot see
What Earth's ingrained conditions are.
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy sire who cannot see
What Earth's ingrained conditions are.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |