The Fallow Deer At The Lonely House
Thomas Hardy
One without looks in tonight Through the curtain-chink From the sheet of glistening white; One without looks in tonight As we sit and think By the fender-brink. We do not discern those eyes Watching in the snow; Lit by lamps of rosy dyes We do not discern those eyes Wandering, aglow Four-footed, tiptoe.
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