One without looks in tonight
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white;
One without looks in tonight
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.
We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow;
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wandering, aglow
Four-footed, tiptoe.
More verses by Thomas Hardy
- The Stranger's Song
- The Two Soldiers
- The Telegram
- We Are Getting To The End
- Thought Of Ph---A At News Of Her Death