Thomas Hardy — The Woman I Met

A stranger, I threaded sunken-hearted        &nbsp       &nbsp A lamp-lit crowd; And anon there passed me a soul departed,        &nbsp       &nbsp Who mutely bowed. In my far-off youthful years I had met her, Full-pulsed; but now, no more life’s debtor,        &nbsp       &nbsp Onward she slid        &nbsp In a shroud that furs half-hid. “Why do you trouble me, dead woman,        &nbsp       &nbsp Trouble me; You whom I knew when warm and human?        &nbsp       &nbsp - How it be That you quitted earth and are yet upon it Is, to any who ponder on it,        &nbsp       &nbsp Past being read!”        &nbsp “Still, it is so,” she said. “These were my haunts in my olden sprightly        &nbsp       &nbsp Hours of breath; Here I went tempting frail youth nightly        &nbsp       &nbsp To their death; But you deemed me chaste - me, a tinselled sinner! How thought you one with pureness in her        &nbsp       &nbsp Could pace this street        &nbsp Eyeing some man to greet? “Well; your very simplicity made me love you        &nbsp       &nbsp Mid such town dross, Till I set not Heaven itself above you,        &nbsp       &nbsp Who grew my Cross; For you’d only nod, despite how I sighed for you; So you tortured me, who fain would have died for you!        &nbsp       &nbsp - What I suffered then        &nbsp Would have paid for the sins of ten! “Thus went the days. I feared you despised me        &nbsp       &nbsp To fling me a nod Each time, no more: till love chastised me        &nbsp       &nbsp As with a rod That a fresh bland boy of no assurance Should fire me with passion beyond endurance,        &nbsp       &nbsp While others all        &nbsp I hated, and loathed their call. “I said: ‘It is his mother’s spirit        &nbsp       &nbsp Hovering around To shield him, maybe!’ I used to fear it,        &nbsp       &nbsp As still I found My beauty left no least impression, And remnants of pride withheld confession        &nbsp       &nbsp Of my true trade        &nbsp By speaking; so I delayed. “I said: ‘Perhaps with a costly flower        &nbsp       &nbsp He’ll be beguiled.’ I held it, in passing you one late hour,        &nbsp       &nbsp To your face: you smiled, Keeping step with the throng; though you did not see there A single one that rivalled me there! . . .        &nbsp       &nbsp Well: it’s all past.        &nbsp I died in the Lock at last.” So walked the dead and I together        &nbsp       &nbsp The quick among, Elbowing our kind of every feather        &nbsp       &nbsp Slowly and long; Yea, long and slowly. That a phantom should stalk there With me seemed nothing strange, and talk there        &nbsp       &nbsp That winter night        &nbsp By flaming jets of light. She showed me Juans who feared their call-time,        &nbsp       &nbsp Guessing their lot; She showed me her sort that cursed their fall-time,        &nbsp       &nbsp And that did not. Till suddenly murmured she: “Now, tell me, Why asked you never, ere death befell me,        &nbsp       &nbsp To have my love,        &nbsp Much as I dreamt thereof?” I could not answer. And she, well weeting        &nbsp       &nbsp All in my heart, Said: “God your guardian kept our fleeting        &nbsp       &nbsp Forms apart!” Sighing and drawing her furs around her Over the shroud that tightly bound her,        &nbsp       &nbsp With wafts as from clay        &nbsp She turned and thinned away.