Thomas Hardy — While Drawing In A Church-Yard

   "It is sad that so many of worth,    Still in the flesh," soughed the yew, "Misjudge their lot whom kindly earth         Secludes from view.    "They ride their diurnal round    Each day-span's sum of hours In peerless ease, without jolt or bound         Or ache like ours.     "If the living could but hear     What is heard by my roots as they creep Round the restful flock, and the things said there,         No one would weep."     "'Now set among the wise,'     They say: 'Enlarged in scope, That no God trumpet us to rise         We truly hope.'"    I listened to his strange tale     In the mood that stillness brings, And I grew to accept as the day wore pale         That show of things.