Poem by Thomas Hardy

At the Altar-Rail

‘My bride is not coming, alas!’ says the groom,
And the telegram shakes in his hand. ‘I own
It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room
When I went to the Cattle-Show alone,
And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps,
And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps.

‘Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife –
’Twas foolish perhaps! – to forsake the ways
Of the flaring town for a farmer’s life.
She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says:
“It’s sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest,
But a swift, short, gay life suits me best.
What I really am you have never gleaned;
I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned.” ’

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

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