They are not those who used to feed us 
When we were young--they cannot be - 
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us? 
They are not those who used to feed us, - 
For would they not fair terms concede us? 
- If hearts can house such treachery 
They are not those who used to feed us 
When we were young--they cannot be!
The Puzzled Game-Birds
written byThomas Hardy
© Thomas Hardy





