 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
ICE ON THE HIGHWAY
Seven buxom women abreast, and arm in arm,Trudge down the hill, tip-toed,
And breathing warm;
They must perforce trudge thus, to keep upright
On the glassy ice-bound road,
697
Provisions running low
With the nearing Saturday night,
While the lumbering van wherein they mostly ride
Can nowise go:
Yet loud their laughter as they stagger and slide!
Yell'ham Hill.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |