 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
215
THE SUN ON THE LETTER
I drew the letter out, while gleamed
The sloping sun from under a roof
Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.
The sloping sun from under a roof
Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.
The burning ball flung rays that seemed
Stretched like a warp without a woof
Across the levels of the lea
Stretched like a warp without a woof
Across the levels of the lea
To where I stood, and where they beamed
As brightly on the page of proof
That she had shown her false to me
As brightly on the page of proof
That she had shown her false to me
As if it had shown her true—had teemed
With passionate thought for my behoof
Expressed with their own ardency!
With passionate thought for my behoof
Expressed with their own ardency!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |