Bother Bulleys, let us sing <br /> From the dawn till evening! - <br />For we know not that we go not <br /> When the day's pale pinions fold <br /> Unto those who sang of old. <br /> <br /> When I flew to Blackmoor Vale, <br /> Whence the green-gowned faeries hail, <br />Roosting near them I could hear them <br /> Speak of queenly Nature's ways, <br /> Means, and moods,--well known to fays. <br /> <br /> All we creatures, nigh and far <br /> (Said they there), the Mother's are: <br />Yet she never shows endeavour <br /> To protect from warrings wild <br /> Bird or beast she calls her child. <br /> <br /> Busy in her handsome house <br /> Known as Space, she falls a-drowse; <br />Yet, in seeming, works on dreaming, <br /> While beneath her groping hands <br /> Fiends make havoc in her bands. <br /> <br /> How her hussif'ry succeeds <br /> She unknows or she unheeds, <br />All things making for Death's taking! <br /> --So the green-gowned faeries say <br /> Living over Blackmoor way. <br /> <br /> Come then, brethren, let us sing, <br /> From the dawn till evening! - <br />For we know not that we go not <br /> When the day's pale pinions fold <br /> Unto those who sang of old.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bullfinches/
