I've often wondered what poe tastes like, Patrick. Could you enlighten us?
P
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Patrick McManus
> Sent: 19 December 2007 20:26
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: Thomas Hardy - During Wind and Rain
>
> As an old poetaster I am having troubles with all the aye and yea and
rotten
> roses ripping
> P
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Max Richards
> Sent: 19 December 2007 19:02
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Thomas Hardy - During Wind and Rain
>
> Thomas Hardy
>
>
> During Wind and Rain
>
> 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 ripped 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 raindrop plows.
>
>
> --
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> 14:13
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