Thomas Hardy

She, to Him III

I WILL be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
      And Death shall choose me with a wondering eye
    That he did not discern and domicile
      One his by right ever since that last Good-bye!
 
    I have no care for friends, or kin, or prime
      Of manhood who deal gently with me here;
    Amid the happy people of my time
      Who work their love’s fulfilment, I appear
 
    Numb as a vane that cankers on its point,
      True to the wind that kissed ere canker came;
    Despised by souls of Now, who would disjoint
      The mind from memory, and make Life all aim,
 
    My old dexterities of hue quite gone,
    And nothing left for Love to look upon.
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