 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
THE WOUND
I climbed to the crest,
And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
Like a crimson wound:
And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
Like a crimson wound:
Like that wound of mine
Of which none knew,
For I'd given no sign
That it pierced me through.
Of which none knew,
For I'd given no sign
That it pierced me through.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |