Explore "The House of Hospitalities" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HERE we broached the Christmas barrel, / Pushed up the charred log-ends; / Here we sang the Christmas carol, / And called in friends.
Time has tired me since we met here / When the folk now dead were young, / Since the viands were outset here / And quaint songs sung.
And the worm has bored the viol / That used to lead the tune, / Rust eaten out the dial / That struck night's noon.
Now no Christmas brings in neighbours, / And the New Year comes unlit; / Where we sang the mole now labours, / And spiders knit.
Yet at midnight if here walking, / When the moon sheets wall and tree, / I see forms of old time talking, / Who smile on me.