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 [...]