Explore "Molly Gone" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
NO more summer for Molly and me; / There is snow on the tree, / And the blackbirds plump large as the rooks are, almost, / And the water is hard / Where they used to dip bills at the dawn ere her figure was lost / To these coasts, now my prison close-barred.
No more planting by Molly and me / Where the beds used to be / Of sweet-william; no training the clambering rose / By the framework of fir / Now bowering the pathway, whereon it swings gaily and blows / As if calling commendment from her.