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!
DayPoems Poem No. 1066
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1066.html">The Seasons of Her Year by Thomas Hardy</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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