First Sight Of Her And After Thomas Hardy

A day is drawing to its fall
        I had not dreamed to see;
The first of many to enthrall
        My spirit, will it be?
Or is this eve the end of all
        Such new delight for me?

I journey home: the pattern grows
        Of moonshades on the way:
"Soon the first quarter, I suppose,"
        Sky-glancing travellers say;
I realize that it, for those,
        Has been a common day.