Poem by Thomas Hardy

A January Night

(1879)

The rain smites more and more,
The east wind snarls and sneezes;
Through the joints of the quivering door
The water wheezes.

The tip of each ivy-shoot
Writhes on its neighbour’s face;
There is some hid dread afoot
That we cannot trace.

Is it the spirit astray
Of the man at the house below
Whose coffin they took in to-day?
We do not know.

1. The Woman in the Rye
2. Her Reproach
3. A Forgotten Miniature
4. When Oats Were Reaped
5. Royal Sponsors

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