Thomas Hardy — You Were The Sort That Men Forget

   You were the sort that men forget;         Though I—not yet! - Perhaps not ever. Your slighted weakness    Adds to the strength of my regret!    You'd not the art—you never had         For good or bad - To make men see how sweet your meaning,    Which, visible, had charmed them glad.    You would, by words inept let fall,         Offend them all, Even if they saw your warm devotion    Would hold your life's blood at their call.    You lacked the eye to understand         Those friends offhand Whose mode was crude, though whose dim purport    Outpriced the courtesies of the bland.    I am now the only being who         Remembers you It may be. What a waste that Nature    Grudged soul so dear the art its due!