Poem by Thomas Hardy

Tolerance

'It is a foolish thing,' said I,
'To bear with such, and pass it by;
Yet so I do, I know not why!'


And at each clash I would surmise
That if I had acted otherwise
I might have saved me many sighs.


But now the only happiness
In looking back that I possess -
Whose lack would leave me comfortless -


Is to remember I refrained
From masteries I might have gained,
And for my tolerance was disdained;


For see, a tomb. And if it were
I had bent and broke, I should not dare
To linger in the shadows there. 

1. An Expostulation
2. Why She Moved House
3. Her Love-Birds
4. The Collector Cleans His Picture
5. The Aërolite

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