How do you know, deep underground,

Hid in your bed from sight and sound,

Without a turn in temperature,

With weather life can scarce endure,

That light has won a fraction’s strength,

And day put on some moments’ length,

Whereof in merest rote will come,

Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;

O crocus root, how do you know,

How do you know?

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: Thomas Hardy

Catherine Hamrick

Soul deep storyteller and editor with a passion for social media, gardens, the South, French culture, art, and literary classics