Poem by Thomas Hardy

She, I, and They

I was sitting,
She was knitting,
And the portraits of our fore-folk hung around;
When there struck on us a sigh;
‘Ah – what is that?’ said I:
‘Was it not you?’ said she. ‘A sigh did sound.’

I had not breathed it,
Nor the night-wind heaved it,
And how it came to us we could not guess;
And we looked up at each face
Framed and glazed there in its place,
Still hearkening; but thenceforth was silentness.

Half in dreaming,
‘Then its meaning,’
Said we, ‘must be surely this; that they repine
That we should be the last
Of stocks once unsurpassed,
And unable to keep up their sturdy line.’

1. To Carrey Clavel
2. Squire Hooper
3. The Vampirine Fair
4. The Shadow on the Stone
5. O I Won’t Lead a Homely Life

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