THEY sing their dearest songs-- <br />He, she, all of them--yea, <br />Treble and tenor and bass. <br /> And one to play; <br />With the candles mooning each face.... <br /> Ah, no; the years O! <br />How the sick leaves reel down in throngs! <br /> <br />They clear the creeping moss-- <br />Elders and juniors--aye, <br />Making the pathways neat <br /> And the garden gay; <br />And they build a shady seat.... <br /> Ah, no; the years, the years; <br />See, the white storm-birds wing across! <br /> <br />They are blithely breakfasting all-- <br />Men and maidens--yea, <br />Under the summer tree, <br /> With a glimpse of the bay, <br />While pet fowl come to the knee.... <br /> Ah, no; the years O! <br />And the rotten rose is ripped from the wall. <br /> <br />They change to a high new house, <br />He, she, all of them--aye, <br />Clocks and carpets and chairs <br /> On the lawn all day, <br />And brightest things that are theirs.... <br /> Ah, no; the years, the years; <br />Down their carved names the raindrop plows.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/during-wind-and-rain/
