An Upbraiding Thomas Hardy

Now I am dead you sing to me
         The songs we used to know,
But while I lived you had no wish
        Or care for doing so.

Now I am dead you come to me
        In the moonlight, comfortless;
Ah, what would I have given alive
        To win such tenderness!

When you are dead, and stand to me
         Not differenced, as now,
But like again, will you be cold
        As when we lived, or how?