On the tune called The Old-hundred-and-fourth Thomas Hardy

We never sang together
       &nbsp Ravenscroft’s terse old tune
On Sundays or on weekdays,
In sharp or summer weather,
       &nbsp At night-time or at noon.

Why did we never sing it,
       &nbsp Why never so incline
On Sundays or on weekdays,
Even when soft wafts would wing it
       &nbsp From your far floor to mine?

Shall we that tune, then, never
       &nbsp Stand voicing side by side
On Sundays or on weekdays? . . .
Or shall we, when for ever
       &nbsp In Sheol we abide,

Sing it in desolation,
       &nbsp As we might long have done
On Sundays or on weekdays
With love and exultation
       &nbsp Before our sands had run?