Read "At Middle-Field Gate in February" by Thomas Hardy online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
THE bars are thick with drops that show / As they gather themselves from the fog / Like silver buttons ranged in a row, / And as evenly spaced as if measured, although / They fall at the feeblest jog.
They load the leafless hedge hard by, / And the blades of last year's grass, / While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh / In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie- / Too clogging for feet to pass.
How dry it was on a far-back day / When straws hung the hedge and around, / When amid the sheaves in amorous play / In curtained bonnets and light array / Bloomed a bevy now underground!
BOCKHAMPTON LANE.