Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Lodging-House Fuchsias

Mrs Masters’s fuchsias hung
Higher and broader, and brightly swung,
Bell-like, more and more
Over the narrow garden-path,
Giving the passer a sprinkle-bath
In the morning.

She put up with their pushful ways,
And made us tenderly lift their sprays,
Going to her door:
But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning.

1. The End of the Episode
2. The Chimes Play ‘Life’s a Bumper!’
3. Saying Good-bye
4. The Children and Sir Nameless
5. On a Discovered Curl of Hair

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