A Sheep Fair by Thomas Hardy

25 Apr 2024

The day arrives of the autumn fair, And torrents fall, Though sheep in throngs are gathered there, Ten thousand all, Sodden, with hurdles round them reared: And, lot by lot, the pens are cleared, And the auctioneer wrings out his beard, And wipes his book, bedrenched and smeared, And takes the rain from his face with the edge of his hand, As torrents fall.

The wool of the ewes is like a sponge With the daylong rain: Jammed tight, to turn, or lie, or lunge, They strive in vain. Their horns are soft as finger-nails, Their shepherds reek against the rails, The tied dogs soak with tucked-in tails, The buyers’ hat-brims fill like pails, Which spill small cascades when they shift their stand In the daylong rain.

POSTSCRIPT Time has trailed lengthily since met At Pummery Fair Those panting thousands in their wet And woolly wear: And every flock long since has bled, And all the dripping buyers have sped, And the hoarse auctioneer is dead, Who ‘Going – going!’ so often said, As he consigned to doom each meek, mewed band At Pummery Fair.

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