Explore "The Division" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
RAIN on the windows, creaking doors, / With blasts that besom the green, / And I am here, and you are there, / And a hundred miles between!
O were it but the weather, Dear, / O were it but the miles / That summed up all our severance, / There might be room for smiles.
But that thwart thing betwixt us twain, / Which nothing cleaves or clears, / Is more than distance, Dear, or rain, / And longer than the years!