The Seasons Of Her Year
I Winter is white on turf and tree, And birds are fled; But summer songsters pipe to me, And petals spread, For what I dreamt of secretly His lips have said! II O 'tis a fine May morn, they say, And blooms have blown; But wild and wintry is my day, My birds make moan; For he who vowed leaves me to pay Alone - alone!
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Thomas Hardy's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Seasons Of Her Year"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...