At Middle-Field Gate In February
The bars are thick with drops that show As they gather themselves from the fog Like silver buttons ranged in a row, And as evenly spaced as if measured, although They fall at the feeblest jog. They load the leafless hedge hard by, And the blades of last year's grass, While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie - Too clogging for feet to pass. How dry it was on a far-back day When straws hung the hedge and around, When amid the sheaves in amorous play In curtained bonnets and light array Bloomed a bevy now underground! BOCKHAMPTON LANE.
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"The bars are thick with drops that show..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Thomas Hardy delivers a powerful performance in "At Middle-Field Gate In February"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...