Explore "While Drawing in a Church-Yard" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"IT is sad that so many of worth, / Still in the flesh," soughed the yew, / "Misjudge their lot whom kindly earth / Secludes from view.
"They ride their diurnal round / Each day-span's sum of hours / In peerless ease, without jolt or bound / Or ache like ours.
"If the living could but hear / What is heard by my roots as they creep / Round the restful flock, and the things said there, / No one would weep."
"‘Now set among the wise,' / They say: ‘Enlarged in scope, / That no God trumpet us to rise / We truly hope."
I listened to his strange tale / In the mood that stillness brings, / And I grew to accept as the day wore pale / That show of things.