Poetry - Monday Night Group

The Oxen by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.    

"Now they are all on their knees,"

An elder said as we sat in a flock    

By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where    

They dwelt in their strawy pen,

Nor did it occur to one of us there    

To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave    

In these years! Yet, I feel,

If someone said on Christmas Eve,    

"Come; see the oxen kneel

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb   

Our childhood used to know,"

I should go with him in the gloom,    

Hoping it might be so.