Poem by Thomas Hardy

Proud Songsters

The thrushes sing as the sun is going,
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales
In bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.

These are brand-new birds of twelve-months’ growing,
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales,
Nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.

1. At the Word ‘Farewell’
2. The Three Tall Men
3. The Supplanter
4. I Found Her Out There
5. Afternoon Service at Mellstock

Print

1453 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version