Poem by Thomas Hardy

First Sight of Her and After

A day is drawing to its fall
I had not dreamed to see;
The first of many to enthrall
My spirit, will it be?
Or is this eve the end of all
Such new delight for me?

I journey home: the pattern grows
Of moonshades on the way:
‘Soon the first quarter, I suppose,’
Sky-glancing travellers say;
I realize that it, for those,
Has been a common day.

1. An Expostulation
2. Why She Moved House
3. Her Love-Birds
4. The Collector Cleans His Picture
5. The Aërolite

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