“When Frost was spectre-grey”

image credit: Rosie Hopkins

I leant upon a coppice gate
      When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
      The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
      Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
      Had sought their household fires. ( from Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush)

image credit: Rosie Hopkins

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3 replies »

  1. Portmoak Moss was bright and extremely cold that day but so worth getting the gloves off, and then getting warm by the “household fire” afterwards. Thanks again for the apt poem.

  2. Blimey, Rosie – that first one – blimey.


    “”So little cause for carolings
    Of such ecstatic sound
    Was written on terrestrial things
    Afar or nigh around,
    That I could think there trembled through
    His happy good-night air
    Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
    And I was unaware.”


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