A bird sings the selfsame song,
With never a fault in its flow,
That we listened to here those long
Long years ago.
A pleasing marvel is how
A strain of such rapturous rote
Should have gone on thus till now
unchanged in a note!
-But its not the selfsame bird.-
No: perished to dust is he…
As also are those who heard
That song with me.
The Selfsame Song
Thomas Hardy
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Poem topics: never, fault, dust, song, bird, long, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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