They sing their dearest songs --
He, she, all of them -- yea,
Treble and tenor and bass,
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face....
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!
They clear the creeping moss --
Elders and juniors -- aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat....
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See, the white storm-birds wing across!
They are blithely breakfasting all --
Men and maidens -- yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee....
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.
They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them -- aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs....
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs
Sunday, July 11, 2010
During wind and rain by Thomas Hardy
- Thomas Hardy
About ggrty -
I'm a typical character as everybody tag me. Learning from life as it presents is my daily activity. Listening to others what life has offered them is my passion. Living life to the fullest is my ambition. A person is a success who gets up in the morning, goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do!