| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
| |
| 150. She Hears the Storm |
| | | By Thomas Hardy |
| |
| |
| THERE was a time in former years— | |
| While my roof-tree was his— | |
| When I should have been distressed by fears | |
| At such a night as this. | |
| |
| I should have murmured anxiously, | 5 |
| “The pricking rain strikes cold; | |
| His road is bare of hedge or tree, | |
| And he is getting old.” | |
| |
| But now the fitful chimney-roar, | |
| The drone of Thorncombe trees, | 10 |
| The Froom in flood upon the moor, | |
| The mud of Mellstock Leaze, | |
| |
| The candle slanting sooty wick’d, | |
| The thuds upon the thatch, | |
| The eaves-drops on the window flicked, | 15 |
| The clacking garden-hatch, | |
| |
| And what they mean to wayfarers, | |
| I scarcely heed or mind; | |
| He has won that storm-tight roof of hers | |
| Which Earth grants all her kind. | 20 |
| |
|
|
|
