Poem Thomas Hardy

Her Immortality

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    Upon a noon I pilgrimed through
       A pasture, mile by mile,
    Unto the place where I last saw
       My dead Love’s living smile.

    And sorrowing I lay me down
       Upon the heated sod:
    It seemed as if my body pressed
       The very ground she trod.

    I lay, and thought; and in a trance
       She came and stood me by—
    The same, even to the marvellous ray
       That used to light her eye.

    “You draw me, and I come to you,
       My faithful one,” she said,
    In voice that had the moving tone
       It bore in maidenhead.

    She said: “‘Tis seven years since I died:
       Few now remember me;
    My husband clasps another bride;
       My children mothers she.

    My brethren, sisters, and my friends
       Care not to meet my sprite:
    Who prized me most I did not know
       Till I passed down from sight.”

    I said: “My days are lonely here;
       I need thy smile alway:
    I’ll use this night my ball or blade,
       And join thee ere the day.”

    A tremor stirred her tender lips,
       Which parted to dissuade:
    “That cannot be, O friend,” she cried;
       “Think, I am but a Shade!

    “A Shade but in its mindful ones
       Has immortality;
    By living, me you keep alive,
       By dying you slay me.

    “In you resides my single power
       Of sweet continuance here;
    On your fidelity I count
       Through many a coming year.”

    —I started through me at her plight,
       So suddenly confessed:
    Dismissing late distaste for life,
       I craved its bleak unrest.

    “I will not die, my One of all!—
       To lengthen out thy days
    I’ll guard me from minutest harms
       That may invest my ways!”

    She smiled and went. Since then she comes
       Oft when her birth-moon climbs,
    Or at the seasons’ ingresses
       Or anniversary times;

    But grows my grief. When I surcease,
       Through whom alone lives she,
    Ceases my Love, her words, her ways,
       Never again to be!

My Cicely


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