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Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
I do not see the hills around,
Nor mark the tints the copses wear;
I do not note the grassy ground
And constellated daisies there.

I hear not the contralto note
Of cuckoos hid on either hand,
The whirr that shakes the nighthawkโ€™s throat
When eveโ€™s brown awning hoods the land.

Some say each songster, tree and meadโ€”
All eloquent of love divineโ€”
Receives their constant careful heed:
Such keen appraisement is not mine.

The tones around me that I hear,
The aspects, meanings, shapes I see,
Are those far back ones missed when near,
And now perceived too late by me!
Book: Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
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     Evangeline Ashe and Judy Ponceby
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