She, To Him Iii

Thomas Hardy

     I will be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
       And Death shall choose me with a wondering eye
     That he did not discern and domicile
       One his by right ever since that last Good-bye!

     I have no care for friends, or kin, or prime
       Of manhood who deal gently with me here;
     Amid the happy people of my time
       Who work their love's fulfilment, I appear

     Numb as a vane that cankers on its point,
       True to the wind that kissed ere canker came;
     Despised by souls of Now, who would disjoint
       The mind from memory, and make Life all aim,

     My old dexterities of hue quite gone,
     And nothing left for Love to look upon.

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