Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

I NEED not go

Through sleet and snow

To where I know

She waits for me;

She will tarry me there

Till I find it fair,

And have time to spare

From company.

When I’ve overgot

The world somewhat,

When things cost not

Such stress and strain,

Is soon enough

By cypress sough

To tell my Love

I am come again.

And if some day,

When none cries nay,

I still delay

To seek her side,

(Though ample measure

Of fitting leisure

Await my pleasure)

She will not chide.

What—not upbraid me

That I delay’d me,

Nor ask what stay’d me

So long? Ah, no!—

New cares may claim me.

New loves inflame me,

She will not blame me,

But suffer it so.