Collected poems of Thomas Hardy With a portrait |
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AFTER THE LAST BREATH
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 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
AFTER THE LAST BREATH
(J. H. 1813–1904)
There's no more to be done, or feared, or hoped;
None now need watch, speak low, and list, and tire;
No irksome crease outsmoothed, no pillow sloped
Does she require.
None now need watch, speak low, and list, and tire;
No irksome crease outsmoothed, no pillow sloped
Does she require.
Blankly we gaze. We are free to go or stay;
Our morrow's anxious plans have missed their aim;
Whether we leave to-night or wait till day
Counts as the same.
Our morrow's anxious plans have missed their aim;
Whether we leave to-night or wait till day
Counts as the same.
254
The lettered vessels of medicaments
Seem asking wherefore we have set them here;
Each palliative its silly face presents
As useless gear.
Seem asking wherefore we have set them here;
Each palliative its silly face presents
As useless gear.
And yet we feel that something savours well;
We note a numb relief withheld before;
Our well-beloved is prisoner in the cell
Of Time no more.
We note a numb relief withheld before;
Our well-beloved is prisoner in the cell
Of Time no more.
We see by littles now the deft achievement
Whereby she has escaped the Wrongers all,
In view of which our momentary bereavement
Outshapes but small.
Whereby she has escaped the Wrongers all,
In view of which our momentary bereavement
Outshapes but small.
1904.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |