During Wind and Rain

by Thomas Hardy

   They sing their dearest songs —
   He, she, all of them — yea,
   Treble and tenor and bass,
      And one to play;
   With the candles mooning each face ....
      Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!

   They clear the creeping moss —
   Elders and juniors — aye,
   Making the pathways neat
      And the garden gay;
   And they build a shady seat ....
   Ah, no; the years, the years,
See, the white storm-birds wing across.

   They are blithely breakfasting all —
   Men and maidens — yea,
   Under the summer tree,
      With a glimpse of the bay,
   While pet fowl come to the knee ....
      Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.

   They change to a high new house,
   He, she, all of them — aye,
   Clocks and carpets and chairs
      On the lawn all day,
   And brightest things that are theirs ....
   Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.