 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
AFTER THE DEATH OF A FRIEND
You died, and made but little of it!—Why then should I, when called to doff it,
Drop, and renounce this worm-holed raiment,
Shrink edgewise off from its grey claimant?
Rather say, when I am Time-outrun,
As you did: Take me, and have done,
Inexorable, insatiate one!
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |