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 [...]

Poetry Mondays – My November Guest by Robert Frost.

My November Guest. My Sorrow, when she's here with me,Thinks these dark days of autumn rainAre beautiful as days can be;She loves the bare, the withered tree;She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay.She talks and I am fain to list:She's glad the birds are gone away,She's glad her simple [...]