The Puzzled Game-Birds (Triolet)
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
- If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be!
poem by Thomas Hardy
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.