 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
LOST LOVE
I play my sweet old airs—
The airs he knew
When our love was true—
But he does not balk
His determined walk,
And passes up the stairs.
The airs he knew
When our love was true—
But he does not balk
His determined walk,
And passes up the stairs.
I sing my songs once more,
And presently hear
His footstep near
As if it would stay;
But he goes his way,
And shuts a distant door.
And presently hear
His footstep near
As if it would stay;
But he goes his way,
And shuts a distant door.
So I wait for another morn,
And another night
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!
And another night
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |