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Poem by Thomas Hardy


The rain-shafts splintered on me
As despondently I strode;
The twilight gloomed upon me
And bleared the blank high-road.
Each bush gave forth, when blown on
By gusts in shower and shower,
A sigh, as it were sown on
In handfuls by a sower.

A cheerful voice called, nigh me,
A merry Christmas, friend! 
There rose a figure by me,
Walking with townward trend,
A sodden tramps, who, breaking
Into thin song, bore straight
Ahead, direction taking
Toward the Casuals gate.

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. A Woman Driving
  2. Intra Sepulchrum
  3. Come Not; Yet Come!
  4. Long Plighted
  5. The Conformers

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Emily Johnson Christmastide ("I may not go to-night to Bethlehem")

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