Poem Thomas Hardy

Song of the Soldiers’ Wives and Sweethearts

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I
At last! In sight of home again,
   Of home again;
No more to range and roam again
   As at that bygone time?
No more to go away from us
   And stay from us?—
Dawn, hold not long the day from us,
   But quicken it to prime!

II

Now all the town shall ring to them,
   Shall ring to them,
And we who love them cling to them
   And clasp them joyfully;
And cry, “O much we’ll do for you
   Anew for you,
Dear Loves!—aye, draw and hew for you,
   Come back from oversea.”

III

Some told us we should meet no more,
   Yea, meet no more!—
Should wait, and wish, but greet no more
   Your faces round our fires;
That, in a while, uncharily
   And drearily
Men gave their lives—even wearily,
   Like those whom living tires.

IV

And now you are nearing home again,
   Dears, home again;
No more, may be, to roam again
   As at that bygone time,
Which took you far away from us
   To stay from us;
Dawn, hold not long the day from us,
   But quicken it to prime!

The Sick Battle-God
The Souls of the Slain

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