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Thomas Hardy - The Burghers
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THE sun had wheeled from Grey`s to Dammer`s Crest,
     And still I mused on that Thing imminent:
     At length I sought the High-street to the West.

     The level flare raked pane and pediment
     And my wrecked face, and shaped my nearing friend
     Like one of those the Furnace held unshent.

     "I`ve news concerning her," he said. "Attend.
     They fly to-night at the late moon`s first gleam:
     Watch with thy steel: two righteous thrusts will end

     "Her shameless visions and his passioned dream.
     I`ll watch with thee, to testify thy wrong—
     To aid, maybe—Law consecrates the scheme."

     I started, and we paced the flags along
     Till I replied: "Since it has come to this
     I`ll do it! But alone. I can be strong."

     Three hours past Curfew, when the Froom`s mild hiss
     Reigned sole, undulled by whirr of merchandise,
     From Pummery-Tout to where the Gibbet is,

     I crossed my pleasaunce hard by Glyd`path Rise,
     And stood beneath the wall. Eleven strokes went,
     And to the door they came, contrariwise,

     And met in clasp so close I had but bent
     My lifted blade upon them to have let
     Their two souls loose upon the firmament.

     But something held my arm. "A moment yet
     As pray-time ere you wantons die!" I said;
     And then they saw me. Swift her gaze was set

     With eye and cry of love illimited
     Upon her Heart-king. Never upon me
     Had she thrown look of love so thorough-sped!…

     At once she flung her faint form shieldingly
     On his, against the vengeance of my vows;
     The which o`erruling, her shape shielded he.

     Blanked by such love, I stood as in a drowse,
     And the slow moon edged from the upland nigh,
     My sad thoughts moving thuswise: "I may house

     "And I may husband her, yet what am I
     But licensed tyrant to this bonded pair?
     Says Charity, Do as ye would be done by."…

     Hurling my iron to the bushes there,
     I bade them stay. And, as if brain and breast
     Were passive, they walked with me to the stair.

     Inside the house none watched; and on we prest
     Before a mirror, in whose gleam I read
     Her beauty, his,—and mine own mien unblest;

     Till at her room I turned. "Madam," I said,
     "Have you the wherewithal for this? Pray speak.
     Love fills no cupboard. You`ll need daily bread."

     "We`ve nothing, sire," said she, "and nothing seek.
     `Twere base in me to rob my lord unware;
     Our hands will earn a pittance week by week."

     And next I saw she`d piled her raiment rare
     Within the garde-robes, and her household purse,
     Her jewels, and least lace of personal wear;

     And stood in homespun. Now grown wholly hers,
     I handed her the gold, her jewells all,
     And him the choicest of her robes diverse.

     "I`ll take you to the doorway in the wall,
     And then adieu," I to them. "Friends, withdraw."
     They did so; and she went—beyond recall.

     And as I paused beneath the arch I saw
     Their moonlit figures—slow, as in surprise—
     Descend the slope, and vanish on the haw.

     "`Fool,` some will say," I thought. "But who is wise,
     Save God alone, to weigh my reasons why?"
     —"Hast thou struck home?" came with the boughs` night-sighs.

     It was my friend. "I have struck well. They fly,
     But carry wounds that none can cicatrize."
     —"Not mortal?" said he. "Lingering—worse," said I.
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