 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
AT A FASHIONABLE DINNER
We sat with the banqueting-party
By the table-end—
Unmarked,—no diners out
Were we: scarce a friend
Of our own mind's trend
Was there, though the welcome was hearty.
Then we noticed a shade extend
By a distant screen,
And I said: “What to you does it seem to mean,
Lavine?”
By the table-end—
Unmarked,—no diners out
Were we: scarce a friend
Of our own mind's trend
Was there, though the welcome was hearty.
Then we noticed a shade extend
By a distant screen,
And I said: “What to you does it seem to mean,
Lavine?”
“—It is like my own body lying
Beyond the door
Where the servants glide in and about
The carpeted floor;
And it means my death hour!—”
“—What a fancy! Who feels like dying
While these smart sallies pour,
With laughter between!
To me it is more like satin sheen,
Lavine.”
Beyond the door
Where the servants glide in and about
The carpeted floor;
And it means my death hour!—”
675
While these smart sallies pour,
With laughter between!
To me it is more like satin sheen,
Lavine.”
“—That means your new bride, when you win her:
Yes, so it must be!
It's her satin dress, no doubt—
That shine you see—
My own corpse to me!”
And a gloom came over the dinner,
Where almost strangers were we,
As the spirit of the scene
Forsook her—the fairest of the whole thirteen—
Lavine!
Yes, so it must be!
It's her satin dress, no doubt—
That shine you see—
My own corpse to me!”
And a gloom came over the dinner,
Where almost strangers were we,
As the spirit of the scene
Forsook her—the fairest of the whole thirteen—
Lavine!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |