English poem
Iii
by Thomas Hardy
“Hoi, Watchman! I’m here. When comes he? Between my sweats I am chill.” —“Oh, you there, working still? Why, surely he reached you a time back, And took you miles from your mill? He duly came in his winging, And now he has passed out of view. How can it be that you missed him? He brushed you by as he flew.”