Explore "The Rambler" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I DO not see the hills around, / Nor mark the tints the copses wear; / I do not note the grassy ground / And constellated daisies there.
I hear not the contralto note / Of cuckoos hid on either hand, / The whirr that shakes the nighthawk's throat / When eve's brown awning hoods the land.
Some say each songster, tree, and mead- / All eloquent of love divine- / Receives their constant careful heed: / Such keen appraisement is not mine.
The tones around me that I hear, / The aspects, meanings, shapes I see, / Are those far back ones missed when near, / And now perceived too late by me!