The Mother Mourns Thomas Hardy

When mid-autumn's moan shook the night-time,
        And sedges were horny,
And summer's green wonderwork faltered
        On leaze and in lane,

I fared Yell'ham-Firs way, where dimly
        Came wheeling around me
Those phantoms obscure and insistent
        That shadows unchain.

Till airs from the needle-thicks brought me
        A low lamentation,
As 'twere of a tree-god disheartened,
        Perplexed, or in pain.

And, heeding, it awed me to gather
        That Nature herself there
Was breathing in aerie accents,
        With dirgeful refrain,

Weary plaint that Mankind, in these late days,
        Had grieved her by holding
Her ancient high fame of perfection
        In doubt and disdain . . .

- "I had not proposed me a Creature
        (She soughed) so excelling
All else of my kingdom in compass
        And brightness of brain