Poem by Thomas Hardy

Her Temple

Dear, think not that they will forget you:
– If craftsmanly art should be mine
I will build up a temple, and set you
Therein as its shrine.

They may say: ‘Why a woman such honour?’
– Be told, ‘O, so sweet was her fame,
That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
None now knows his name.’

1. An Expostulation
2. The Aërolite
3. The Harvest-Supper
4. Why She Moved House
5. Her Love-Birds

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