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Poem by Thomas Hardy


Joys of Memory


When the spring comes round, and a certain day
Looks out from the brume by the eastern copsetrees 
And says, Remember,
I begin again, as if it were new,
A day of like date I once lived through,
Whiling it hour by hour away;
So shall I do till my December,
When spring comes round.

I take my holiday then and my rest
Away from the dun life here about me,
Old hours re-greeting
With the quiet sense that bring they must
Such throbs as at first, till I house with dust,
And in the numbness my heartsome zest
For things that were, be past repeating
When spring comes round.



Thomas Hardy


Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
  2. Reluctant Confession
  3. To an Impersonator of Rosalind
  4. When Oats Were Reaped
  5. The Child and the Sage


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