Thomas Hardy — Penance

“Why do you sit, O pale thin man,        &nbsp At the end of the room By that harpsichord, built on the quaint old plan?        &nbsp - It is cold as a tomb, And there’s not a spark within the grate;        &nbsp And the jingling wires        &nbsp Are as vain desires        &nbsp That have lagged too late.” “Why do I? Alas, far times ago        &nbsp A woman lyred here In the evenfall; one who fain did so        &nbsp From year to year; And, in loneliness bending wistfully,        &nbsp Would wake each note        &nbsp In sick sad rote,        &nbsp None to listen or see! “I would not join. I would not stay,        &nbsp But drew away, Though the winter fire beamed brightly . . . Aye!        &nbsp I do to-day What I would not then; and the chill old keys,        &nbsp Like a skull’s brown teeth        &nbsp Loose in their sheath,        &nbsp Freeze my touch; yes, freeze.”