At The Wicket-Gate Thomas Hardy

There floated the sounds of church-chiming,
        But no one was nigh,
Till there came, as a break in the loneness,
         Her father, she, I.
And we slowly moved on to the wicket,
         And downlooking stood,
Till anon people passed, and amid them
        We parted for good.

Greater, wiser, may part there than we three
        Who parted there then,
But never will Fates colder-featured
        Hold sway there again.
Of the churchgoers through the still meadows
        No single one knew
What a play was played under their eyes there
        As thence we withdrew.