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.