First Sight Of Her And After

Thomas Hardy

A day is drawing to its fall
   I had not dreamed to see;
The first of many to enthrall
   My spirit, will it be?
Or is this eve the end of all
   Such new delight for me?

I journey home:  the pattern grows
   Of moonshades on the way:
"Soon the first quarter, I suppose,"
   Sky-glancing travellers say;
I realize that it, for those,
   Has been a common day.

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