 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
GREEN SLATES
(PENPETHY)
It happened once, before the duller
Loomings of life defined them,
I searched for slates of greenish colour
A quarry where men mined them;
Loomings of life defined them,
I searched for slates of greenish colour
A quarry where men mined them;
And saw, the while I peered around there,
In the quarry standing
A form against the slate background there,
Of fairness eye-commanding.
In the quarry standing
A form against the slate background there,
Of fairness eye-commanding.
And now, though fifty years have flown me,
With all their dreams and duties,
And strange-pipped dice my hand has thrown me,
And dust are all her beauties,
With all their dreams and duties,
And strange-pipped dice my hand has thrown me,
And dust are all her beauties,
Green slates—seen high on roofs, or lower
In waggon, truck, or lorry—
Cry out: “Our home was where you saw her
Standing in the quarry!”
In waggon, truck, or lorry—
Cry out: “Our home was where you saw her
Standing in the quarry!”
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |