The Sweet Sharp Sense of a Fugitive Day

“…About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow, boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.ā€

From “Under the Waterfall” by Thomas Hardy

3 thoughts on “The Sweet Sharp Sense of a Fugitive Day

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