 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
RELUCTANT CONFESSION
“What did you do? Cannot you let me know?”“Don't ask! . . . 'Twas midnight, and I'd lost at cards.”
“Ah. Was it crime—or seemed it to be so?”
“No—not till afterwards.”
“But what, then, did you do?”
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You see, I had lost, and could not pay but—so.
And there flashed from him strange and strong regards
That you only see when scruples smash to shards;
And thus it happened—O it rained and blew!—
But I can't tell. 'Twas all so lurid in hue!
And what was worst came after, when I knew
What first crossed not my mind,
And he has never divined!” . . .
“But he must have, if he proposed it you?”
“I mean, that—I got rid of what resulted
In a way a woman told me I consulted:
'Tis that he does not know;
Great God, it harrows me so!
I did not mean to. Every night—
In hell-dark dreams
I see an appealing figure in white—
That somehow seems
A newborn child in the clothes I set to make,
But left off, for my own depraved name's sake!”
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |