The Darkling Thrush

by Thomas Hardy (1900) — a poem card from Justes Mots

At the dead of winter, a frail old bird flings its whole heart into song — for some hope the listener cannot yet see.

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.…

Themes: recovery · reflection