Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
  Indulge no more may we
In this sweet-bitter pastime:
The love-light shines the last time
  Between you, Dear, and me.
  There shall remain no trace
Of what so closely tied us,
And blank as ere love eyed us
  Will be our meeting-place.
  The flowers and thymy air,
Will they now miss our coming?
The dumbles thin their humming
  To find we haunt not there?
  Though fervent was our vow,
Though ruddily ran our pleasure,
Bliss has fulfilled its measure,
  And sees its sentence now.
  Ache deep; but make no moans:
Smile out; but stilly suffer:
The paths of love are rougher
  Than thoroughfares of stones.