 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
A WEEK
On Monday night I closed my door,
And thought you were not as heretofore,
And little cared if we met no more.
And thought you were not as heretofore,
And little cared if we met no more.
I seemed on Tuesday night to trace
Something beyond mere commonplace
In your ideas, and heart, and face.
Something beyond mere commonplace
In your ideas, and heart, and face.
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On Wednesday I did not opine
Your life would ever be one with mine,
Though if it were we should well combine.
Your life would ever be one with mine,
Though if it were we should well combine.
On Thursday noon I liked you well,
And fondly felt that we must dwell
Not far apart, whatever befell.
And fondly felt that we must dwell
Not far apart, whatever befell.
On Friday it was with a thrill
In gazing towards your distant vill
I owned you were my dear one still.
In gazing towards your distant vill
I owned you were my dear one still.
I saw you wholly to my mind
On Saturday—even one who shrined
All that was best of womankind.
On Saturday—even one who shrined
All that was best of womankind.
As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea
On Sunday night I longed for thee,
Without whom life were waste to me!
On Sunday night I longed for thee,
Without whom life were waste to me!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |