Thomas Hardy - At Middle-Field Gate In February lyrics

The bars are thick with drops that show As they gather themselves from the fog Like silver bu*tons ranged in a row, And as evenly spaced as if measured, although They fall at the feeblest jog. They load the leafless hedge hard by, And the blades of last year's gra**, While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie - Too clogging for feet to pa**. How dry it was on a far-back day When straws hung the hedge and around, When amid the sheaves in amorous play In curtained bonnets and light array Bloomed a bevy now underground! BOCKHAMPTON LANE.