Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Slow Nature

(An Incident of Froom Valley)

‘Thy husband – poor, poor Heart! – is dead –
Dead, out by Moreford Rise; 
A bull escaped the barton-shed, 
Gored him, and there he lies!’ 

– ‘Ha, ha – go away! ’Tis a tale, methink, 
Thou joker Kit!’ laughed she. 
‘I’ve known thee many a year, Kit Twink, 
And ever hast thou fooled me!’ 

– ‘But, Mistress Damon – I can swear 
Thy goodman John is dead! 
And soon th’lt hear their feet who bear 
His body to his bed.’ 

So unwontedly sad was the merry man’s face –
That face which had long deceived –
That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace 
The truth there; and she believed. 

She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge, 
And scanned far Egdon-side; 
And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge 
And the rippling Froom; till she cried: 

‘O my chamber’s untidied, unmade my bed, 
Though the day has begun to wear! 
“What a slovenly hussif!” it will be said, 
When they all go up my stair!’ 

She disappeared; and the joker stood 
Depressed by his neighbour’s doom, 
And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood 
Thought first of her unkempt room. 

But a fortnight thence she could take no food, 
And she pined in a slow decay; 
While Kit soon lost his mournful mood 
And laughed in his ancient way.

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