Thomas Hardy




This Summer and Last

    Unhappy summer you,
        Who do not see
What your yester-summer saw!
Never, never will you be
        Its match to me,
    Never, never draw
    Smiles your forerunner drew,
        Know what it knew!

    Divine things done and said
        Illumined it,
Whose rays crept into corn-brown curls,
Whose breezes heard a humorous wit
        Of fancy flit. —
    Still the alert brook purls,
    Though feet that there would tread
         Elsewhere have sped.

    So, bran-new summer, you
        Will never see
All that tester-summer saw!
Never, never will you be
        In memory
    Its rival, never draw
    Smiles your forerunner drew,
        Know what it knew!