Thomas Hardy — In Her Precincts

Her house looked cold from the foggy lea, And the square of each window a dull black blur         Where showed no stir: Yes, her gloom within at the lack of me Seemed matching mine at the lack of her. The black squares grew to be squares of light As the eyeshade swathed the house and lawn,         And viols gave tone; There was glee within. And I found that night The gloom of severance mine alone. KINGSTON-MAURWARD PARK.


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