Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Wound

I climbed to the crest,
And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
Like a crimson wound:

Like that wound of mine
Of which none knew,
For I’d given no sign
That it pierced me through.

1. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
2. The Month’s Calendar
3. Genitrix Laesa
4. The Dead Bastard
5. In Death Divided

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