The Sun On The Letter

A poem by Thomas Hardy

I drew the letter out, while gleamed
The sloping sun from under a roof
Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.

The burning ball flung rays that seemed
Stretched like a warp without a woof
Across the levels of the lea

To where I stood, and where they beamed
As brightly on the page of proof
That she had shown her false to me

As if it had shown her true - had teemed
With passionate thought for my behoof
Expressed with their own ardency!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Sun On The Letter' by Thomas Hardy

comments powered by Disqus