Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Widow

By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue
   Towards her door I went,
And sunset on her window-panes
   Reflected our intent.

The creeper on the gable nigh
   Was fired to more than red
And when I came to halt thereby
   "Bright as my joy!" I said.

Of late days it had been her aim
   To meet me in the hall;
Now at my footsteps no one came;
   And no one to my call.

Again I knocked; and tardily
   An inner step was heard,
And I was shown her presence then
   With scarce an answering word.

She met me, and but barely took
   My proffered warm embrace;
Preoccupation weighed her look,
   And hardened her sweet face.

"To-morrow--could you--would you call?
   Make brief your present stay?
My child is ill--my one, my all! -
   And can't be left to-day."

And then she turns, and gives commands
   As I were out of sound,
Or were no more to her and hers
   Than any neighbour round . . .

- As maid I wooed her; but one came
   And coaxed her heart away,
And when in time he wedded her
   I deemed her gone for aye.

He won, I lost her; and my loss
   I bore I know not how;
But I do think I suffered then
   Less wretchedness than now.

For Time, in taking him, had oped
   An unexpected door
Of bliss for me, which grew to seem
   Far surer than before . . .

Her word is steadfast, and I know
   That plighted firm are we:
But she has caught new love-calls since
   She smiled as maid on me! 

1. The Supplanter
2. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
3. At the Word ‘Farewell’
4. Tragedian to Tragedienne
5. The Three Tall Men

Robert Service The Widow ("I don't think men of eighty odd")

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