The Conformers Thomas Hardy

       &nbsp Yes; we'll wed, my little fay,
       &nbsp And you shall write you mine,
And in a villa chastely gray
       &nbsp We'll house, and sleep, and dine.
       &nbsp But those night-screened, divine,
       &nbsp Stolen trysts of heretofore,
We of choice ecstasies and fine
       &nbsp       &nbsp Shall know no more.

       &nbsp The formal faced cohue
       &nbsp Will then no more upbraid
With smiting smiles and whisperings two
       &nbsp Who have thrown less loves in shade.
       &nbsp We shall no more evade
       &nbsp The searching light of the sun,
Our game of passion will be played,
       &nbsp       &nbsp Our dreaming done.

       &nbsp We shall not go in stealth
       &nbsp To rendezvous unknown,
But friends will ask me of your health,
       &nbsp And you about my own.
       &nbsp When we abide alone,
       &nbsp No leapings each to each,
But syllables in frigid tone
       &nbsp       &nbsp Of household speech.