Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Puzzled Game-Birds

  (Triolet)

They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young – they cannot be –
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us,
For did we then cry, they would heed us.
– If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young – they cannot be!

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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