The Complete Poetical Works. Томас Харди

The Complete Poetical Works - Томас Харди


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New cares may claim me,

       New loves inflame me,

       She will not blame me,

       But suffer it so.

      The Coquette, and After

       Table of Contents

      (Triolets)

      I

      For long the cruel wish I knew

       That your free heart should ache for me

       While mine should bear no ache for you;

       For, long—the cruel wish!—I knew

       How men can feel, and craved to view

       My triumph—fated not to be

       For long! . . . The cruel wish I knew

       That your free heart should ache for me!

      II

      At last one pays the penalty—

       The woman—women always do.

       My farce, I found, was tragedy

       At last!—One pays the penalty

       With interest when one, fancy-free,

       Learns love, learns shame . . . Of sinners two

       At last one pays the penalty— The woman—women always do!

      A Spot

       Table of Contents

      In years defaced and lost,

       Two sat here, transport-tossed,

       Lit by a living love

       The wilted world knew nothing of:

       Scared momently

       By gaingivings,

       Then hoping things

       That could not be.

      Of love and us no trace

       Abides upon the place;

       The sun and shadows wheel,

       Season and season sereward steal;

       Foul days and fair

       Here, too, prevail,

       And gust and gale

       As everywhere.

      But lonely shepherd souls

       Who bask amid these knolls

       May catch a faery sound

       On sleepy noontides from the ground:

       “O not again

       Till Earth outwears

       Shall love like theirs

       Suffuse this glen!”

      Long Plighted

       Table of Contents

      Is it worth while, dear, now,

       To call for bells, and sally forth arrayed

       For marriage-rites—discussed, decried, delayed

       So many years?

      Is it worth while, dear, now,

       To stir desire for old fond purposings,

       By feints that Time still serves for dallyings,

       Though quittance nears?

      Is it worth while, dear, when

       The day being so far spent, so low the sun,

       The undone thing will soon be as the done,

       And smiles as tears?

      Is it worth while, dear, when

       Our cheeks are worn, our early brown is gray;

       When, meet or part we, none says yea or nay,

       Or heeds, or cares?

      Is it worth while, dear, since

       We still can climb old Yell’ham’s wooded mounds

       Together, as each season steals its rounds

       And disappears?

      Is it worth while, dear, since

       As mates in Mellstock churchyard we can lie,

       Till the last crash of all things low and high

       Shall end the spheres?

      The Widow

       Table of Contents

      By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue

       Towards her door I went,

       And sunset on her window-panes

       Reflected our intent.

      The creeper on the gable nigh

       Was fired to more than red

       And when I came to halt thereby

       “Bright as my joy!” I said.

      Of late days it had been her aim

       To meet me in the hall;

       Now at my footsteps no one came;

       And no one to my call.

      Again I knocked; and tardily

       An inner step was heard,

       And I was shown her presence then

       With scarce an answering word.

      She met me, and but barely took

       My proffered warm embrace;

       Preoccupation weighed her look,

       And hardened her sweet face.

      “To-morrow—could you—would you call?

       Make brief your present stay?

       My child is ill—my one, my all!—

       And can’t be left to-day.”

      And then she turns, and gives commands

       As I were out of sound,

       Or were no more to her and hers

       Than any neighbour round . . .

      —As maid I wooed her; but one came

       And coaxed her heart away,

       And when in time he wedded her

       I deemed her gone for aye.

      He won, I lost her; and my loss

       I bore I know not how;

       But I do think I suffered then

       Less wretchedness than now.

      For Time, in taking him, had oped

       An unexpected door

       Of bliss for me, which grew to seem

       Far surer than before . . .

      Her word is steadfast, and I know

       That plighted firm are we:

       But she has caught new love-calls since

       She smiled as maid on me!

      At a Hasty Wedding


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