The Flirt’s Tragedy Thomas Hardy

Here alone by the logs in my chamber,
       &nbsp Deserted, decrepit -
Spent flames limning ghosts on the wainscot
       &nbsp Of friends I once knew -

My drama and hers begins weirdly
       &nbsp Its dumb re-enactment,
Each scene, sigh, and circumstance passing
       &nbsp In spectral review.

- Wealth was mine beyond wish when I met her -
       &nbsp The pride of the lowland -
Embowered in Tintinhull Valley
       &nbsp By laurel and yew;

And love lit my soul, notwithstanding
       &nbsp My features' ill favour,
Too obvious beside her perfections
       &nbsp Of line and of hue.

But it pleased her to play on my passion,
       &nbsp And whet me to pleadings
That won from her mirthful negations
       &nbsp And scornings undue.

Then I fled her disdains and derisions
       &nbsp To cities of pleasure,
And made me the crony of idlers
       &nbsp In every purlieu.