Thomas Hardy — The Widow

By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue         Towards her door I went, And sunset on her window-panes         Reflected our intent. The creeper on the gable nigh         Was fired to more than red And when I came to halt thereby         "Bright as my joy!" I said. Of late days it had been her aim         To meet me in the hall; Now at my footsteps no one came;         And no one to my call. Again I knocked; and tardily         An inner step was heard, And I was shown her presence then         With scarce an answering word. She met me, and but barely took         My proffered warm embrace; Preoccupation weighed her look,         And hardened her sweet face. "To-morrow—could you—would you call?         Make brief your present stay? My child is ill—my one, my all! -         And can't be left to-day." And then she turns, and gives commands         As I were out of sound, Or were no more to her and hers         Than any neighbour round . . . - As maid I wooed her; but one came         And coaxed her heart away, And when in time he wedded her         I deemed her gone for aye. He won, I lost her; and my loss         I bore I know not how; But I do think I suffered then         Less wretchedness than now. For Time, in taking him, had oped         An unexpected door Of bliss for me, which grew to seem         Far surer than before . . . Her word is steadfast, and I know         That plighted firm are we: But she has caught new love-calls since         She smiled as maid on me!