Poem Thomas Hardy

Autumn in King’s Hintock Park

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Here by the baring bough
  Raking up leaves,
Often I ponder how
  Springtime deceives, —
I, an old woman now,
  Raking up leaves.

Here in the avenue
  Raking up leaves,
Lords’ ladies pass in view,
  Until one heaves
Sighs at life’s russet hue,
  Raking up leaves!

Just as my shape you see
  Raking up leaves,
I saw, when fresh and free,
  Those memory weaves
Into grey ghosts by me,
  Raking up leaves.

Yet, Dear, though one may sigh,
  Raking up leaves,
New leaves will dance on high —
  Earth never grieves! —
Will not, when missed am I
  Raking up leaves.

Shut Out That Moon
The Farm Woman's Winter

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