| Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898. |
| |
| 16. She, to Him. IV |
| |
| |
| THIS love puts all humanity from me; | |
| I can but maledict her, pray her dead, | |
| For giving love and getting love of thee— | |
| Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed! | |
| |
| How much I love I know not, life not known, | 5 |
| Save as some unit I would add love by; | |
| But this I know, my being is but thine own— | |
| Fused from its separateness by ecstasy. | |
| |
| And thus I grasp thy amplitudes, of her | |
| Ungrasped, though helped by nigh-regarding eyes; | 10 |
| Canst thou then hate me as an envier | |
| Who see unrecked what I so dearly prize? | |
| Believe me, Lost One, Love is lovelier | |
The more it shapes its moans in selfish-wise.
1866. | |
| |
|
|
|
