Explore "The Night of the Dance" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE cold moon hangs to the sky by its horn, / And centres its gaze on me; / The stars, like eyes in reverie, / Their westering as for a while forborne, / Quiz downward curiously.
Old Robert draws the backbrand in, / The green logs steam and spit; / The half-awakened sparrows flit / From the riddled thatch; and owls begin / To whoo from the gable-slit.
Yes; far and nigh things seem to know / Sweet scenes are impending here; / That all is prepared; that the hour is near / For welcomes, fellowships, and flow / Of sally, song, and cheer;
That spigots are pulled and viols strung; / That soon will arise the sound / Of measures trod to tunes renowned; / That She will return in Love's low tongue / My vows as we wheel around.