Thomas Hardy - The Wanderer lyrics

There is nobody on the road   But I, And no beseeming abode   I can try For shelter, so abroad   I must lie. The stars feel not far up,   And to be The lights by which I sup   Glimmeringly, Set out in a hollow cup   Over me. They wag as though they were   Panting for joy Where they shine, above all care,   And annoy, And demons of despair -   Life's alloy. Sometimes outside the fence   Feet swing past, Clock-like, and then go hence,   Till at last There is a silence, dense,   Deep, and vast. A wanderer, witch-drawn   To and fro, To-morrow, at the dawn,   On I go, And where I rest anon   Do not know! Yet it's meet - this bed of hay   And roofless plight; For there's a house of clay,   My own, quite, To roof me soon, all day   And all night.