Explore "A Wet Night" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I PACE along, the rain-shafts riddling me, / Mile after mile out by the moorland way, / And up the hill, and through the ewe-leaze gray / Into the lane, and round the corner tree;
Where, as my clothing clams me, mire-bestarred, / And the enfeebled light dies out of day, / Leaving the liquid shades to reign, I say, / "This is a hardship to be calendared!"
Yet sires of mine now perished and forgot, / When worse beset, ere roads were shapen here, / And night and storm were foes indeed to fear, / Times numberless have trudged across this spot / In sturdy muteness on their strenuous lot, / And taking all such toils as trifles mere.