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Thomas Hardy - She Hears The Storm
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There was a time in former years— 
While my roof-tree was his— 
When I should have been distressed by fears 
At such a night as this!

I should have murmured anxiously, 
`The prickling rain strikes cold; 
His road is bare of hedge or tree, 
And he is getting old.`

But now the fitful chimney-roar, 
The drone of Thorncombe trees, 
The Froom in flood upon the moor, 
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,

The candle slanting sooty-wick`d, 
The thuds upon the thatch, 
The eaves drops on the window flicked, 
The clanking garden-hatch,

And what they mean to wayfarers, 
I scarcely heed or mind; 
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers 
Which Earth grants all her kind.
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