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Snow-bound in woodland, a mournful word, Dropt now and then from the bill of a bird, Reached me on wind-wafts; and thus I heard, Wearily waiting:-

"I planned her a nest in a leafless tree, But the passers eyed and twitted me, And said: 'How reckless a bird is he, Cheerily mating!'

"Fear-filled, I stayed me till summer-tide, In lewth of leaves to throne her bride; But alas! her love for me waned and died, Wearily waiting.

"Ah, had I been like some I see, Born to an evergreen nesting-tree, None had eyed and twitted me, Cheerily mating!"



Thomas Hardy