Why did you give no hint that night\nThat quickly after the morrow\u2019s dawn,\nAnd calmly, as if indifferent quite,\nYou[footnote]Hardy\u2019s first wife, Emma. They married in 1874, and she died in 1912.[\/footnote]\u00a0would close your term here, up and be gone\nWhere I could not follow\nWith wing of swallow\nTo gain one glimpse of you ever anon!\n\nNever to bid good-bye\nOr lip me the softest call,\nOr utter a wish for a word, while I\nSaw morning harden upon the wall,\nUnmoved, unknowing\nThat your great going\nHad place that moment, and altered all.\n\nWhy do you make me leave the house\nAnd think for a breath it is you I see\nAt the end of the alley of bending boughs\nWhere so often at dusk you used to be;\nTill in darkening dankness\nThe yawning blankness\nOf the perspective sickens me!\n\nYou were she who abode\nBy those red-veined rocks far West,\nYou were the swan-necked one who rode\nAlong the beetling Beeny Crest[footnote]A cliff on the sea coast of northern Cornwall near the village where Hardy first met and began courting Emma Gifford.\u00a0Hardy\u2019s biographer notes that Emma was a fine horsewoman, who enjoyed \u201cgalloping over the hills on her beloved mare...bright hair streaming\u201d (Halliday, p. 56).[\/footnote],\nAnd, reining nigh me,\nWould muse and eye me,\nWhile Life unrolled us its very best.\n\nWhy, then, latterly did we not speak,\nDid we not think of those days long dead,\nAnd ere your vanishing strive to seek\nThat time\u2019s renewal?\u00a0 We might have said,\n\n\u201cIn this bright spring weather\nWe\u2019ll visit together\nThose places that once we visited.\u201d\n\nWell, well!\u00a0 All\u2019s past amend,\nUnchangeable.\u00a0 It must go.\nI seem but a dead man held on end\nTo sink down soon. . . .\u00a0 O you could not know\nThat such swift fleeing\nNo soul foreseeing\u2014\nNot even I\u2014would undo me so!\n\n\u2014 1912<\/p>","rendered":"
Why did you give no hint that night Never to bid good-bye Why do you make me leave the house You were she who abode Why, then, latterly did we not speak, \u201cIn this bright spring weather Well, well!\u00a0 All\u2019s past amend, \u2014 1912<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t
\nThat quickly after the morrow\u2019s dawn,
\nAnd calmly, as if indifferent quite,
\nYou[1]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0would close your term here, up and be gone
\nWhere I could not follow
\nWith wing of swallow
\nTo gain one glimpse of you ever anon!<\/p>\n
\nOr lip me the softest call,
\nOr utter a wish for a word, while I
\nSaw morning harden upon the wall,
\nUnmoved, unknowing
\nThat your great going
\nHad place that moment, and altered all.<\/p>\n
\nAnd think for a breath it is you I see
\nAt the end of the alley of bending boughs
\nWhere so often at dusk you used to be;
\nTill in darkening dankness
\nThe yawning blankness
\nOf the perspective sickens me!<\/p>\n
\nBy those red-veined rocks far West,
\nYou were the swan-necked one who rode
\nAlong the beetling Beeny Crest[2]<\/sup><\/a>,
\nAnd, reining nigh me,
\nWould muse and eye me,
\nWhile Life unrolled us its very best.<\/p>\n
\nDid we not think of those days long dead,
\nAnd ere your vanishing strive to seek
\nThat time\u2019s renewal?\u00a0 We might have said,<\/p>\n
\nWe\u2019ll visit together
\nThose places that once we visited.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nUnchangeable.\u00a0 It must go.
\nI seem but a dead man held on end
\nTo sink down soon. . . .\u00a0 O you could not know
\nThat such swift fleeing
\nNo soul foreseeing\u2014
\nNot even I\u2014would undo me so!<\/p>\nCandela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t