Love
Max Gate
From Poems of the Past and the Present
Love
THE PUZZLED GAME-BIRDS
(TRIOLET)
THEY are not those who used to feed us
When we were young—they cannot be—
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us,—
For would they not fair terms concede us?
—If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young—they cannot be!
Cite this poem
MLA
Hardy, Thomas. “Max Gate.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/hardy/240/.
Chicago
Hardy, Thomas. “Max Gate.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/hardy/240/.
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