Thomas Hardy

The Love-Letters

    (In Memoriam H.R.)

I met him quite by accident
In a bye-path that he’d frequent.
And, as he neared, the sunset glow
Warmed up the smile of pleasantry
Upon his too thin face, while he
Held a square packet up to me,
Of what, I did not know.

‘Well,’ said he then; ‘they are my old letters.
Perhaps she – rather felt them fetters. . . .
You see, I am in a slow decline,
And she’s broken off with me. Quite right
To send them back, and true foresight;
I’d got too fond of her! To-night
I burn them – stuff of mine!’

He laughed in the sun – an ache in his laughter –
And went. I heard of his death soon after.