The Slow Nature

"Thy husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead—
&nbsp Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
A bull escaped the barton-shed,
&nbsp Gored him, and there he lies!"

- "Ha, ha—go away! 'Tis a tale, methink,
&nbsp Thou joker Kit!" laughed she.
"I've known thee many a year, Kit Twink,
&nbsp And ever hast thou fooled me!"

- "But, Mistress Damon—I can swear
&nbsp Thy goodman John is dead!
And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear
&nbsp His body to his bed."

So unwontedly sad was the merry man's face -
&nbsp That face which had long deceived -
That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace
&nbsp The truth there; and she believed.

She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,
&nbsp And scanned far Egdon-side;
And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge
&nbsp And the rippling Froom; till she cried:

"O my chamber's untidied, unmade my bed
&nbsp Though the day has begun to wear!
'What a slovenly hussif!' it will be said,
&nbsp When they all go up my stair!"

She disappeared; and the joker stood
&nbsp Depressed by his neighbour's doom,
And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood
&nbsp Thought first of her unkempt room.

But a fortnight thence she could take no food,
&nbsp And she pined in a slow decay;
While Kit soon lost his mournful mood
&nbsp And laughed in his ancient way.