Verse > Thomas Hardy > Wessex Poems and Other Verses > Index of First Lines
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  
Thomas Hardy (1840–1928).  Wessex Poems and Other Verses.  1898.
  
Index of First Lines

Ah, child, thou art but half thy darling mother’s
And I leapt in my wonder
As evening shaped I found me on a moor
 
Before we part to alien thoughts and aims
Beneath a knap where flown
 
Change and chancefulness in my flowering youthtime
 
Good Father!… Twas an eve in middle June
 
If but some vengeful god would call to me
I longed to love a full-boughed beech
I look into my glass
I marked her ruined hues
I mark the months in liveries dank and dry
Inn a ferny byway
In vision I roamed the flashing Firmament
I will be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
 
Not a line of her writing have I
Now that my page upcloses, doomed, maybe
 
Old Norbert with the flat blue cap
O my trade it is the rarest one
 
Pale beech and pine-tree blue
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away
 
She sought the Studios, beckoning to her side
Show thee as I thought thee
Snow-bound in woodland, a mournful word
Sun had wheeled from Grey’s to Dammer’s Crest, The
 
That from this bright believing band
There were two youths of equal age
They bear him to his resting-place
They had long met o’ Zundays—her true love and she
This love puts all humanity from me
Though I waste watches framing words to fetter
Three captains went to Indian wars
Thy husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead
To Jenny came a gentle youth
Twas a death-bed summons, and forth I went
Two were silent in a sunless church, The
 
Upon a noon I pilgrimed through
Upon a poet’s page I wrote
 
We passed where flag and flower
We stood by a pond that winter day
We trenched, we trumpeted and drummed
When I look forth at dawning, pool
When Lawyers strive to heal a breach
When, soul in soul reflected
When we as strangers sought
When you paced forth, to wait maternity
When you shall see me lined by tool of Time
Why, Sergeant, stray on the Ivel Way
William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough
 
Years have gathered grayly, The
Your troubles shrink not, though I feel them less


CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

 
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