A Gentleman’s Epitaph on Himself and a Lady Thomas Hardy
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I dwelt in the shade of a city,
  She far by the sea,
With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;
  But never with me.
Her form on the ballroom’s smooth flooring
  I never once met,
To guide her with accents adoring
  Through Weippert’s “First Set.”
I spent my life’s seasons with pale ones
  In Vanity Fair,
And she enjoyed hers among hale ones
  In salt-smelling air.
Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,
  Maybe they were blue,
Maybe as she aged they got duller;
  That never I knew.
She may have had lips like the coral,
  But I never kissed them,
Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,
  Nor sought for, nor missed them.
Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,
  Between us, nor thrill;
We’d never a husband-and-wife time,
  For good or for ill.
  She far by the sea,
With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;
  But never with me.
Her form on the ballroom’s smooth flooring
  I never once met,
To guide her with accents adoring
  Through Weippert’s “First Set.”
I spent my life’s seasons with pale ones
  In Vanity Fair,
And she enjoyed hers among hale ones
  In salt-smelling air.
Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,
  Maybe they were blue,
Maybe as she aged they got duller;
  That never I knew.
She may have had lips like the coral,
  But I never kissed them,
Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,
  Nor sought for, nor missed them.
Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,
  Between us, nor thrill;
We’d never a husband-and-wife time,
  For good or for ill.
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