Poem Thomas Hardy

The End of the Episode

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     Indulge no more may we
    In this sweet-bitter pastime:
    The love-light shines the last time
     Between you, Dear, and me.

     There shall remain no trace
    Of what so closely tied us,
    And blank as ere love eyed us
     Will be our meeting-place.

     The flowers and thymy air,
    Will they now miss our coming?
    The dumbles thin their humming
     To find we haunt not there?

     Though fervent was our vow,
    Though ruddily ran our pleasure,
    Bliss has fulfilled its measure,
     And sees its sentence now.

     Ache deep; but make no moans:
    Smile out; but stilly suffer:
    The paths of love are rougher
     Than thoroughfares of stones.

The Sigh
In the Mind's Eye

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