By Henstridge Cross at the year’s end Thomas Hardy

       &nbsp Why go the east road now? . . .
That way a youth went on a morrow
After mirth, and he brought back sorrow
       &nbsp Painted upon his brow
       &nbsp Why go the east road now?

       &nbsp Why go the north road now?
Torn, leaf-strewn, as if scoured by foemen,
Once edging fiefs of my forefolk yeomen,
       &nbsp Fallows fat to the plough:
       &nbsp Why go the north road now?

       &nbsp Why go the west road now?
Thence to us came she, bosom-burning,
Welcome with joyousness returning . . .
       &nbsp - She sleeps under the bough:
       &nbsp Why go the west road now?

       &nbsp Why go the south road now?
That way marched they some are forgetting,
Stark to the moon left, past regretting
       &nbsp Loves who have falsed their vow . . .
       &nbsp Why go the south road now?

       &nbsp Why go any road now?
White stands the handpost for brisk on-bearers,
“Halt!” is the word for wan-cheeked farers
       &nbsp Musing on Whither, and How . . .
       &nbsp Why go any road now?