Thomas Hardy: The Seasons of Her Year
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The Seasons of Her Year

6/2/1840-1/11/1928


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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