These are the weathers Hardy praised
In his best tongue;
When spring comes uttered forth unphrased,
Straight from the lung;
And the deep, bearded roots unfreeze,
And soapsuds shake in the flimsy breeze,
And girls find cause to show their knees,
And a warm rain riddles the alders: these
He’d chiefly sung.
As he was one whose leaning made
Note of such things,
I read him still in the primest blade
The weather brings;
And I doubt not, as the snails appear,
And the light is blonde as a glass of beer,
And the songbird ravishes every ear
It is for someone who cannot hear
He chiefly sings.
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