Thomas Hardy — Overlooking The River Stour

The swallows flew in the curves of an eight         Above the river-gleam         In the wet June's last beam: Like little crossbows animate The swallows flew in the curves of an eight         Above the river-gleam. Planing up shavings of crystal spray         A moor-hen darted out         From the bank thereabout, And through the stream-shine ripped his way; Planing up shavings of crystal spray         A moor-hen darted out. Closed were the kingcups; and the mead         Dripped in monotonous green,         Though the day's morning sheen Had shown it golden and honeybee'd; Closed were the kingcups; and the mead         Dripped in monotonous green. And never I turned my head, alack,         While these things met my gaze         Through the pane's drop-drenched glaze, To see the more behind my back . . . O never I turned, but let, alack,         These less things hold my gaze!