Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Farm Woman's Winter

I

If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
And fragile folk might be here
That white winds bid depart;
Then one I used to see here
Would warm my wasted heart!

II

One frail, who, bravely tilling
Long hours in gripping gusts,
Was mastered by their chilling,
And now his ploughshare rusts.
So savage winter catches
The breath of limber things,
And what I love he snatches,
And what I love not, brings. 

1. Genitrix Laesa
2. V.R. 1819–1901
3. Over the Coffin
4. Song from Heine
5. Song to an Old Burden

Print

4124 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version