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Poem by Thomas Hardy
On a Heath
I could hear a gown-skirt rustling Before I could see her shape, Rustling through the heather That wove the common’s drape, On that evening of dark weather When I hearkened, lips agape. And the town-shine in the distance Did but baffle here the sight, And then a voice flew forward: ‘Dear, is’t you? I fear the night!’ And the herons flapped to norward In the firs upon my right. There was another looming Whose life we did not see; There was one stilly blooming Full nigh to where walked we; There was a shade entombing All that was bright of me.
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