A Gentleman’s Epitaph on Himself and a Lady Thomas Hardy

I dwelt in the shade of a city,
       &nbsp She far by the sea,
With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;
       &nbsp But never with me.

Her form on the ballroom’s smooth flooring
       &nbsp I never once met,
To guide her with accents adoring
       &nbsp Through Weippert’s “First Set.”

I spent my life’s seasons with pale ones
       &nbsp In Vanity Fair,
And she enjoyed hers among hale ones
       &nbsp In salt-smelling air.

Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,
       &nbsp Maybe they were blue,
Maybe as she aged they got duller;
       &nbsp That never I knew.

She may have had lips like the coral,
       &nbsp But I never kissed them,
Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,
       &nbsp Nor sought for, nor missed them.

Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,
       &nbsp Between us, nor thrill;
We’d never a husband-and-wife time,
       &nbsp For good or for ill.