Image from canva.com Hope. “Hope” is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all And sweetest in the Gale is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm I’ve [...]
Tag: Bird
Poetry Mondays – The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy.
The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate,When Frost was spectre-gray,And Winter’s dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day.The tangled bine-stems scored the skyLike strings of broken lyres,And all mankind that haunted nighHad sought their household fires. The land’s sharp features seemed to meThe Century’s corpse outleant,Its crypt the cloudy canopy,The wind [...]
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