Poem by Thomas Hardy

* * *

We say we shall not meet
Again beneath this sky,
And turn with leaden feet,
Murmuring ‘Good-bye!’

But laugh at how we rued
Our former time’s adieu
When those who went for good
Are met anew.

We talk in lightest vein
On trifles talked before,
And part to meet again,
But meet no more.

1. An Expostulation
2. Her Love-Birds
3. The Collector Cleans His Picture
4. The Aërolite
5. The Harvest-Supper

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