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Poem by Thomas Hardy
Is it worth while, dear, now, To call for bells, and sally forth arrayed For marriage-rites – discussed, descried, delayed So many years? Is it worth while, dear, now, To stir desire for old fond purposings, By feints that Time still serves for dallyings, Though quittance nears? Is it worth while, dear, when The day being so far spent, so low the sun, The undone thing will soon be as the done, And smiles as tears? Is it worth while, dear, when Our cheeks are worn, our early brown is gray; When, meet or part we, none says yea or nay, Or heeds, or cares? Is it worth while, dear, since We still can climb old Yell’ham’s wooded mounds Together, as each season steals its rounds And disappears! Is it worth while, dear, since As mates in Mellstock churchyard we can lie, Till the last crash of all things low and high Shall end the spheres?
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