Poem by Thomas Hardy

Looking Back

When formerly we thought, Dear,
Of how our souls were set
On spousals doomed to nought, Dear,
We sickened with regret.

When now we think thereof, Dear,
Although our eyes are wet,
We know what quenches love, Dear,
And we do not regret.

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

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