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Thomas Hardy - To A Lady
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Offended by a Book of the Writer`s

     NOW that my page upcloses, doomed, maybe,
     Never to press thy cosy cushions more,
     Or wake thy ready Yeas as heretofore,
     Or stir thy gentle vows of faith in me:

     Knowing thy natural receptivity,
     I figure that, as flambeaux banish eve,
     My sombre image, warped by insidious heave
     Of those less forthright, must lose place in thee.

     So be it. I have borne such. Let thy dreams
     Of me and mine diminish day by day,
     And yield their space to shine of smugger things;
     Till I shape to thee but in fitful gleams,
     And then in far and feeble visitings,
     And then surcease. Truth will be truth alway.
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