Read "Where the Picnic Was" by Thomas Hardy online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
WHERE we made the fire, / In the summer time, / Of branch and briar / On the hill to the sea / I slowly climb / Through winter mire, / And scan and trace / The forsaken place / Quite readily.
Now a cold wind blows, / And the grass is gray, / But the spot still shows / As a burnt circle-aye, / And stick-ends, charred, / Still strew the sward / Whereon I stand, / Last relic of the band / Who came that day!
Yes, I am here / Just as last year, / And the sea breathes brine / From its strange straight line / Up hither, the same / As when we four came. / -But two have wandered far / From this grassy rise / Into urban roar / Where no picnics are, / And one-has shut her eyes / For evermore.