Thomas Hardy (Òîìàñ Õàðäè)

A Wife in London

     (December 1899)
I
She sits in the tawny vapour
    That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled,
    Behind whose webby fold on fold
Like a waning taper
    The street-lamp glimmers cold.

A messenger’s knock cracks smartly, 
    Flashed news is in her hand
    Of meaning it dazes to understand
Though shaped so shortly:
    He – has fallen – in the far South Land....

II
’Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker,
    The postman nears and goes:
    A letter is brought whose lines disclose
By the firelight flicker
    His hand, whom the worm now knows:

Fresh – firm – penned in highest feather –
    Page-full of his hoped return,
    And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn
In the summer weather,
    And of new love that they would learn.

1. For Life I Had Never Cared Greatly
2. On the Belgian Expatriation
3. An Appeal to America on Behalf of the Belgian Destitute
4. Men Who March Away
5. In Time of Wars and Tumults

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