Thomas Hardy — The Curtains now are Drawn

I          The curtains now are drawn,          And the spindrift strikes the glass,          Blown up the jagged pass          By the surly salt sou’-west,          And the sneering glare is gone          Behind the yonder crest,                  While she sings to me: “O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine, And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine, And death may come, but loving is divine.” II          I stand here in the rain,          With its smite upon her stone,          And the grasses that have grown          Over women, children, men,          And their texts that “Life is vain”;          But I hear the notes as when                  Once she sang to me: “O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine, And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine, And death may come, but loving is divine.”