Thomas Hardy

The Inconsistent

I say, “She was as good as fair,”
   When standing by her mound;
“Such passing sweetness,” I declare,
   "No longer treads the ground."
I say, "What living Love can catch
   Her bloom and bonhomie,
And what in newer maidens match
   Her olden warmth to me!"
 
—There stands within yon vestry—nook
   Where bonded lovers sign,
Her name upon a faded book
   With one that is not mine.
To him she breathed the tender vow
   She once had breathed to me,
But yet I say, "O love, even now
   Would I had died for thee!"
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