The Darkling Thrush
by Thomas Hardy
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
This poem is in the public domain.
Read More
A Short Analysis of Thomas Hardy’s ‘The Darkling Thrush’, by Dr Oliver Tearle
Thanks for Visiting 🙂
~Sunnyside
At Sunnyside - Where Truth and Beauty Meet 
This is a new poem for me, although the echoes of Emily Dickinson are there: like the faint little bird’s song!
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Thanks for sharing your thoughts, shoreacres. 🙂
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The bleak imagery and mood of melancholia and desolation aptly describes winters. We are experiencing brutal winters here in New England… I feel I’ll develop winter induced psychosis 🤪…..
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I understand. ❤️
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This poem The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy was my dad’s favourite poem.
It was read aloud at my dad’s funeral.
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Thank you for sharing such a special memory, Dracul. ❤️
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thank you very much for sharing this poem with the painting…. Love it.
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Thanks for visiting, Northern Elm. 🙂
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