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Satires of Circumstance, lyrics and reveries with miscellaneous pieces by Thomas Hardy
page 27 of 177 (15%)
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!



"MY SPIRIT WILL NOT HAUNT THE MOUND"



My spirit will not haunt the mound
Above my breast,
But travel, memory-possessed,
To where my tremulous being found
Life largest, best.

My phantom-footed shape will go
When nightfall grays
Hither and thither along the ways
I and another used to know
In backward days.

And there you'll find me, if a jot
You still should care
For me, and for my curious air;
If otherwise, then I shall not,
For you, be there.


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