Of love and us no trace Abides upon the place; The sun and shadows wheel, Season and season sereward steal; Foul days and fair Here, too, prevail, And gust and gale As everywhere. But lonely shepherd souls Who bask amid these knolls May catch a faery sound On sleepy noontides from the ground: “O not again Till Earth outwears Shall love like theirs Suffuse this glen!” LONG PLIGHTED IS it worth while, dear, now, To call for bells, and sally forth arrayed For marriage-rites—discussed, decried, delayed So many years? Is it worth while, dear, now, To stir desire for old fond purposings, By feints that Time still serves for dallyings, Though quittance nears? Is it worth while, dear, when The day being so far spent, so low the sun, The undone thing will soon be as the done, And smiles as tears? Is it worth while, dear, when Our cheeks are worn, our early brown is gray; When, meet or part we, none says yea or nay, Or heeds, or cares? Is it worth while, dear, since We still can climb old Yell’ham’s wooded mounds Together, as each season steals its rounds And disappears? Is it worth while, dear, since As mates in Mellstock churchyard we can lie, Till the last crash of all things low and high Shall end the spheres? THE WIDOW BY Mellstock Lodge and Avenue Towards her door I went, And sunset on her window-panes Reflected our intent. The creeper on the gable nigh Was fired to more than red And when I came to halt thereby “Bright as my joy!” I said. Of late days it had been her aim To meet me in the hall; Now at my footsteps no one came; And no one to my call. Again I knocked; and tardily An inner step was heard, And I was shown her presence then With scarce an answering word. She met me, and but barely took My proffered warm embrace; Preoccupation weighed her look, And hardened her sweet face. “To-morrow—could you—would you call? Make brief your present stay? My child is ill—my one, my all!— And can’t be left to-day.” And then she turns, and gives commands As I were out of sound, Or were no more to her and hers Than any neighbour round . . . —As maid I wooed her; but one came And coaxed her heart away, And when in time he wedded her I deemed her gone for aye. He won, I lost her; and my loss I bore I know not how; But I do think I suffered then Less wretchedness than now. For Time, in taking him, had oped An unexpected door Of bliss for me, which grew to seem Far surer than before . . .