Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Head above the Fog

Something do I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead,
A figure like to life indeed,
Moving along with spectre-speed,
Seen by none but me.

O the vision keen! –
Tripping along to me for love
As in the flesh it used to move,
Only its hat and plume above
The evening fog-fleece seen.

In the day-fall wan,
When nighted birds break off their song,
Mere ghostly head it skims along,
Just as it did when warm and strong,
Body seeming gone.

Such it is I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead –
Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! –
Skimming along with spectre-speed
To a last tryst with me.

1. An Expostulation
2. Her Love-Birds
3. The Collector Cleans His Picture
4. The Aërolite
5. The Harvest-Supper

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