The Rift by Thomas Hardy — Read

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(SONG: _Minor Mode_)

'TWAS just at gnat and cobweb-time, / When yellow begins to show in the leaf, / That your old gamut changed its chime / From those true tones-of span so brief! - / That met my beats of joy, of grief, / As rhyme meets rhyme.

So sank I from my high sublime! / We faced but chancewise after that, / And never I knew or guessed my crime... / Yes; 'twas the date-or nigh thereat- / Of the yellowing leaf; at moth and gnat / And cobweb-time.

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