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SHE REVISITS ALONE THE CHURCH OF HER MARRIAGE |
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 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
SHE REVISITS ALONE THE CHURCH OF HER MARRIAGE
I have come to the church and chancel,
Where all's the same!
—Brighter and larger in my dreams
Truly it shaped than now, meseems
Is its substantial frame.
But, anyhow, I made my vow,
Whether for praise or blame.
Here in this church and chancel
Where all's the same.
Where all's the same!
—Brighter and larger in my dreams
Truly it shaped than now, meseems
Is its substantial frame.
But, anyhow, I made my vow,
Whether for praise or blame.
Here in this church and chancel
Where all's the same.
Where touched the check-floored chance
My knees and his?
The step looks shyly at the sun,
And says, “'Twas here the thing was done,
For bale or else for bliss!”
Of all those there I least was ware
Would it be that or this
When touched the check-floored chancel
My knees and his!
My knees and his?
The step looks shyly at the sun,
And says, “'Twas here the thing was done,
For bale or else for bliss!”
Of all those there I least was ware
Would it be that or this
When touched the check-floored chancel
My knees and his!
Here in this fateful chancel
Where all's the same,
I thought the culminant crest of life
Was reached when I went forth the wife
I was not when I came.
Each commonplace one of my race,
Some say, has such an aim—
To go from a fateful chancel
As not the same.
Where all's the same,
I thought the culminant crest of life
Was reached when I went forth the wife
I was not when I came.
Each commonplace one of my race,
Some say, has such an aim—
To go from a fateful chancel
As not the same.
605
Here, through this hoary chancel
Where all's the same,
A thrill, a gaiety even, ranged
That morning when it seemed I changed
My nature with my name.
Though now not fair, though gray my hair,
He loved me, past proclaim,
Here in this hoary chancel,
Where all's the same.
Where all's the same,
A thrill, a gaiety even, ranged
That morning when it seemed I changed
My nature with my name.
Though now not fair, though gray my hair,
He loved me, past proclaim,
Here in this hoary chancel,
Where all's the same.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |