Thomas Hardy — The Dear

I plodded to Fairmile Hill-top, where        &nbsp A maiden one fain would guard From every hazard and every care        &nbsp Advanced on the roadside sward. I wondered how succeeding suns        &nbsp Would shape her wayfarings, And wished some Power might take such ones        &nbsp Under Its warding wings. The busy breeze came up the hill        &nbsp And smartened her cheek to red, And frizzled her hair to a haze. With a will        &nbsp "Good-morning, my Dear!" I said. She glanced from me to the far-off gray,        &nbsp And, with proud severity, "Good-morning to you—though I may say        &nbsp I am not YOUR Dear," quoth she: "For I am the Dear of one not here -        &nbsp One far from his native land!" - And she passed me by; and I did not try        &nbsp To make her understand.