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Thomas Hardy - The Slow Nature
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"THY husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead—
        Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
     A bull escaped the barton-shed,
        Gored him, and there he lies!"

     —"Ha, ha—go away! `Tis a tale, methink,
        Thou joker Kit!" laughed she.
     "I`ve known thee many a year, Kit Twink,
        And ever hast thou fooled me!"

     —"But, Mistress Damon—I can swear
        Thy goodman John is dead!
     And soon th`lt hear their feet who bear
        His body to his bed."

     So unwontedly sad was the merry man`s face—
        That face which had long deceived—
     That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace
        The truth there; and she believed.

     She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,
        And scanned far Egdon-side;
     And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge
        And the rippling Froom; till she cried:

     "O my chamber`s untidied, unmade my bed,
        Though the day has begun to wear!
     `What a slovenly hussif!` it will be said,
        When they all go up my stair!"

     She disappeared; and the joker stood
        Depressed by his neighbor`s doom,
     And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood
        Thought first of her unkempt room.

     But a fortnight thence she could take no food,
        And she pined in a slow decay;
     While Kit soon lost his mournful mood
        And laughed in his ancient way.
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