Satires of Circumstance, lyrics and reveries with miscellaneous pieces by Thomas Hardy
page 27 of 177 (15%)
page 27 of 177 (15%)
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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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