|
|
The Rift (Song: Minor Mode)
By Thomas Hardy
'Twas just at gnat and cobweb-time,
When yellow begins to show in the leaf,
That your old gamut changed its chime
From those true tones of span so brief! -
That met my beats of joy, of grief,
As rhyme meets rhyme.
So sank I from my high sublime!
We faced but chancewise after that,
And never I knew or guessed my crime. . .
Yes; 'twas the date or nigh thereat -
Of the yellowing leaf; at moth and gnat
And cobweb-time.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 356 times.
|
|
