 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
THE BEAUTY
O do not praise my beauty more.
In such word-wild degree,
And say I am one all eyes adore;
For these things harass me!
In such word-wild degree,
And say I am one all eyes adore;
For these things harass me!
But do for ever softly say:
“From now unto the end
Come weal, come wanzing, come what may,
Dear, I will be your friend.”
“From now unto the end
Come weal, come wanzing, come what may,
Dear, I will be your friend.”
I hate my beauty in the glass:
My beauty is not I:
I wear it: none cares whether, alas,
Its wearer live or die!
My beauty is not I:
I wear it: none cares whether, alas,
Its wearer live or die!
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The inner I O care for, then,
Yea, me and what I am,
And shall be at the gray hour when
My cheek begins to clam.
Yea, me and what I am,
And shall be at the gray hour when
My cheek begins to clam.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |