At a Hasty Wedding
If hours be years the twain are blest, For now they solace swift desire By bonds of every bond the best, If hours be years. The twain are blest Do eastern stars slope never
Her Death And After
‘TWAS a death-bed summons, and forth I went By the way of the Western Wall, so drear On that winter night, and sought a gate The home, by Fate, Of one I had long
In Time Of "The Breaking Of Nations"
I Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk. II Only thin smoke without flame From the heaps of
The Slow Nature
(an Incident of Froom Valley) “THY husband poor, poor Heart! is dead Dead, out by Moreford Rise; A bull escaped the barton-shed, Gored him, and there he lies!” “Ha, ha go away! ‘Tis a
The Widow
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
The Puzzled Game-Birds
They are not those who used to feed us When we were young they cannot be – These shapes that now bereave and bleed us? They are not those who used to feed us,
Tess's Lament
I I would that folk forgot me quite, Forgot me quite! I would that I could shrink from sight, And no more see the sun. Would it were time to say farewell, To claim
In The Old Theatre, Fiesole
I traced the Circus whose gray stones incline Where Rome and dim Etruria interjoin, Till came a child who showed an ancient coin That bore the image of a Constantine. She lightly passed; nor
She Hears The Storm
There was a time in former years While my roof-tree was his When I should have been distressed by fears At such a night as this! I should have murmured anxiously, ‘The prickling rain
San Sebastian
And your sunny years with a gracious wife Have brought you a daughter dear. “I watched her to-day; a more comely maid, As she danced in her muslin bowed with blue, Round a Hintock
The Tree: An Old Man's Story
I Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny hair; The loud south-wester’s swell and yell Smote it at midnight, and it fell. Thus ends the tree Where Some One
Song of Hope
O sweet To-morrow! – After to-day There will away This sense of sorrow. Then let us borrow Hope, for a gleaming Soon will be streaming, Dimmed by no gray – No gray! While the
God's Funeral
I I saw a slowly-stepping train Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed and bent and hoar Following in files across a twilit plain A strange and mystic form the foremost bore. II And by contagious
Wives in the Sere
I Never a careworn wife but shows, If a joy suffuse her, Something beautiful to those Patient to peruse her, Some one charm the world unknows Precious to a muser, Haply what, ere years
In The Vaulted Way
In the vaulted way, where the passage turned To the shadowy corner that none could see, You paused for our parting, – plaintively: Though overnight had come words that burned My fond frail happiness