Thomas Hardy

(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928 / Dorchester / England)

The Bullfinches - Poem by Thomas Hardy

Bother Bulleys, let us sing
   From the dawn till evening! -
For we know not that we go not
   When the day's pale pinions fold
   Unto those who sang of old.

   When I flew to Blackmoor Vale,
   Whence the green-gowned faeries hail,
Roosting near them I could hear them
   Speak of queenly Nature's ways,
   Means, and moods,--well known to fays.

   All we creatures, nigh and far
   (Said they there), the Mother's are:
Yet she never shows endeavour
   To protect from warrings wild
   Bird or beast she calls her child.

   Busy in her handsome house
   Known as Space, she falls a-drowse;
Yet, in seeming, works on dreaming,
   While beneath her groping hands
   Fiends make havoc in her bands.

   How her hussif'ry succeeds
   She unknows or she unheeds,
All things making for Death's taking!
   --So the green-gowned faeries say
   Living over Blackmoor way.

   Come then, brethren, let us sing,
   From the dawn till evening! -
For we know not that we go not
   When the day's pale pinions fold
   Unto those who sang of old.


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Read poems about / on: green, nature, house, child, mother, death, dream, children, work



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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