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Poem by Thomas Hardy


A clamminess hangs over all like a clout,
The fields are a water-colour washed out,
The sky at its rim leaves a chink of light,
Like the lid of a pot that will not close tight.

She is away by the groaning sea,
Strained at the heart, and waiting for me:
Between us our foe from a hid retreat
Is watching, to wither us if we meet. . . .

But it matters little, however we fare Ц
Whether we meet, or I get not there;
The sky will look the same thereupon,
And the wind and the sea go groaning on.

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. Thoughts at Midnight
  2. Long Plighted
  3. The Spell of the Rose
  4. Plena Timoris
  5. The Aërolite

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Emily Dickinson Suspense ("Elysium is as far as to")

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