Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
15. She, to Him. III
I
And Death shall choose me with a wondering eye
That he did not discern and domicile
One his by right ever since that last Good-bye!
Of manhood who deal gently with me here;
Amid the happy people of my time
Who work their love’s fulfilment, I appear
True to the wind that kissed ere canker came;
Despised by souls of Now, who would disjoint
The mind from memory, and make Life all aim,
And nothing left for Love to look upon.