Time's Laughingstocks and Other Verses by Thomas Hardy
page 58 of 158 (36%)
page 58 of 158 (36%)
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And she loved me staunchly, truly,
Till she died; But she never made confession Why, at that first sweet concession, She had sighed. It was in our May, remember; And though now I near November, And abide Till my appointed change, unfretting, Sometimes I sit half regretting That she sighed. "IN THE NIGHT SHE CAME" I told her when I left one day That whatsoever weight of care Might strain our love, Time's mere assault Would work no changes there. And in the night she came to me, Toothless, and wan, and old, With leaden concaves round her eyes, And wrinkles manifold. I tremblingly exclaimed to her, "O wherefore do you ghost me thus! |
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