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Thomas Hardy - Lost Love
Work rating: Medium

	I play my sweet old airs -
	The airs he knew
	When our love was true -
	But he does not balk
	His determined walk,
	And passes up the stairs.
	 
	I sing my songs once more,
	And presently hear
	His footstep near
	As if it would stay;
	But he goes his way,
	And shuts a distant door.
	 
	So I wait for another morn
	And another night
	In this soul-sick blight;
	And I wonder much
	As I sit, why such
	A woman as I was born!
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