The Rift by Thomas Hardy

(SONG: Minor Mode)

‘Twas just at gnat and cobweb-time,
When yellow begins to show in the leaf,
That your old gamut changed its chime
From those true tones–of span so brief! –
That met my beats of joy, of grief,
As rhyme meets rhyme.

So sank I from my high sublime!
We faced but chancewise after that,
And never I knew or guessed my crime. . .
Yes; ’twas the date–or nigh thereat –
Of the yellowing leaf; at moth and gnat
And cobweb-time.

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