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Poem by Thomas Hardy


On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth


We never sang together
Ravenscrofts terse old tune
On Sundays or on weekdays,
In sharp or summer weather,
At night-time or at noon.

Why did we never sing it,
Why never so incline
On Sundays or on weekdays,
Even when soft wafts would wing it
From your far floor to mine?

Shall we that tune, then, never
Stand voicing side by side
On Sundays or on weekdays?.. 
Or shall we, when for ever
In Sheol we abide,

Sing it in desolation,
As we might long have done
On Sundays or on weekdays
With love and exultation
Before our sands had run?



Thomas Hardy


Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. Over the Coffin
  2. Genitrix Laesa
  3. V.R. 18191901
  4. Mute Opinion
  5. I Say, Ill Seek Her Side


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