Thomas Hardy — The Musical Box

        Lifelong to be Seemed the fair colour of the time; That there was standing shadowed near A spirit who sang to the gentle chime Of the self-struck notes, I did not hear,         I did not see.         Thus did it sing To the mindless lyre that played indoors As she came to listen for me without: "O value what the nonce outpours - This best of life—that shines about         Your welcoming!"         I had slowed along After the torrid hours were done, Though still the posts and walls and road Flung back their sense of the hot-faced sun, And had walked by Stourside Mill, where broad         Stream-lilies throng.         And I descried The dusky house that stood apart, And her, white-muslined, waiting there In the porch with high-expectant heart, While still the thin mechanic air         Went on inside.         At whiles would flit Swart bats, whose wings, be-webbed and tanned, Whirred like the wheels of ancient clocks: She laughed a hailing as she scanned Me in the gloom, the tuneful box         Intoning it.         Lifelong to be I thought it. That there watched hard by A spirit who sang to the indoor tune, "O make the most of what is nigh!" I did not hear in my dull soul-swoon -         I did not see.