Thomas Hardy

In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury

The years have gathered grayly 
Since I danced upon this leaze 
With one who kindled gaily 
Love’s fitful ecstasies! 
But despite the term as teacher, 
I remain what I was then 
In each essential feature 
Of the fantasies of men. 

Yet I note the little chisel 
Of never-napping Time 
Defacing wan and grizzel 
The blazon of my prime. 
When at night he thinks me sleeping 
I feel him boring sly 
Within my bones, and heaping 
Quaintest pains for by-and-by. 

Still, I’d go the world with Beauty, 
I would laugh with her and sing, 
I would shun divinest duty 
To resume her worshipping. 
But she’d scorn my brave endeavour, 
She would not balm the breeze 
By murmuring ‘Thine for ever!’ 
As she did upon this leaze.