Explore "The Souls of the Slain" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I. The thick lids of Night closed upon me / Alone at the Bill / Of the Isle by the Race- / Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face- / And with darkness and silence the spirit was on me / To brood and be still.
II. No wind fanned the flats of the ocean, / Or promontory sides, / Or the ooze by the strand, / Or the bent-bearded slope of the land, / Whose base took its rest amid everlong motion / Of criss-crossing tides.