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
The postscript is an unusual feature. Hardy, in his bleak mood, felt the need to add a comment on the ultimate fate of humans and animals.
A Sheep Fair