Poem by Thomas Hardy

Something Tapped

Something tapped on the pane of my room
When there was never a trace
Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom
My weary Belovéd’s face.

‘O I am tired of waiting,’ she said,
‘Night, morn, noon, afternoon;
So cold it is in my lonely bed,
And I thought you would join me soon!’

I rose and neared the window-glass,
But vanished thence had she:
Only a pallid moth, alas,
Tapped at the pane for me.

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

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