 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
THE PUZZLED GAME-BIRDS
(TRIOLET)
They are not those who used to feed usWhen we were young—they cannot be—
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us,
For did we then cry, they would heed us.
—If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young—they cannot be!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |