Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Bird-Catcher’s Boy

‘Father, I fear your trade:
Surely it’s wrong!
Little birds limed and made
Captive life-long.

‘Larks bruise and bleed in jail,
Trying to rise;
Every caged nightingale
Soon pines and dies.’

‘Don’t be a dolt, my boy!
Birds must be caught;
My lot is such employ,
Yours to be taught.

‘Soft shallow stuff as that
Out from your head!
Just learn your lessons pat,
Then off to bed.’

Lightless, without a word
Bedwise he fares;
Groping his way is heard
Seek the dark stairs.

1. The Supplanter
2. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
3. At the Word ‘Farewell’
4. Tragedian to Tragedienne
5. The Three Tall Men

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