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Read more poems by Thomas Hardy: Thomas Hardy Poems at Poetry X.

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The Sun On The Bookcase

Thomas Hardy

Once more the cauldron of the sun 
Smears the bookcase with winy red, 
And here my page is, and there my bed, 
And the apple-tree shadows travel along. 
Soon their intangible track will be run, 
And dusk grow strong 
And they have fled.

Yes: now the boiling ball is gone, 
And I have wasted another day.... 
But wasted--wasted, do I say? 
Is it a waste to have imagined one 
Beyond the hills there, who, anon, 
My great deeds done, 
Will be mine alway? 

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 22 Oct 2018 12:26 PM | Viewed: 3925 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2786/ | Viewed on 22 October 2018.
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