Poem by Thomas Hardy

The New Toy

She cannot leave it alone,
The new toy;
She pats it, smooths it, rights it, to show it’s her own,
As the other train-passengers muse on its temper and tone,
Till she draws from it cries of annoy: –
She feigns to appear as if thinking it nothing so rare
Or worthy of pride, to achieve
This wonder a child, though with reason the rest of them there
May so be inclined to believe.

1. At the Word ‘Farewell’
2. The Supplanter
3. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
4. The Children and Sir Nameless
5. Tragedian to Tragedienne

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