I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires. (Thomas Hardy)

I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.

Thomas Hardy

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day eye frost gate lean seek sky weakening dregs

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