Thomas Hardy — In the small hours

I lay in my bed and fiddled        &nbsp With a dreamland viol and bow, And the tunes flew back to my fingers        &nbsp I had melodied years ago. It was two or three in the morning        &nbsp When I fancy-fiddled so Long reels and country-dances,        &nbsp And hornpipes swift and slow. And soon anon came crossing        &nbsp The chamber in the gray Figures of jigging fieldfolk -        &nbsp Saviours of corn and hay - To the air of “Haste to the Wedding,”        &nbsp As after a wedding-day; Yea, up and down the middle        &nbsp In windless whirls went they! There danced the bride and bridegroom,        &nbsp And couples in a train, Gay partners time and travail        &nbsp Had longwhiles stilled amain! . . . It seemed a thing for weeping        &nbsp To find, at slumber’s wane And morning’s sly increeping,        &nbsp That Now, not Then, held reign.