Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Inconsistent

I say, ‘She was as good as fair!’
When standing by her mound;
‘Such passing sweetness,’ I declare,
‘No longer treads the ground.’
I say, ‘What living Love can catch
Her bloom and bonhomie,
And what in recent maidens match
Her olden warmth to me!’

– There stands within yon vestry-nook
Where bonded lovers sign,
Her name upon a faded book
With one that is not mine.
To him she breathed the tender vow
She once had breathed to me,
But yet I say, ‘O Love, even now
Would I had died for thee!’

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

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