Poem by Thomas Hardy

Lost Love

I play my sweet old airs –
The airs he knew
When our love was true –
But he does not balk
His determined walk,
And passes up the stairs.

I sing my songs once more,
And presently hear
His footstep near
As if it would stay;
But he goes his way,
And shuts a distant door.

So I wait for another morn,
And another night
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!

1. The Woman in the Rye
2. The Peasant’s Confession
3. Her Reproach
4. Misconception
5. The Rash Bride

Edward Sill Lost Love ("BURY it, and sift")

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