A poem created from the first lines of selected poems by Thomas Hardy
‘Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me.’
You did not come.
Why did you give no hint that night?
You did not walk with me,
- it was your way my dear.
When you slowly emerged from the den of Time
where we made the fire,
we stood by a pond that winter’s day.
Well World you kept faith with me.
We sat at the window looking out
(it faces west, and round the back and sides
the swallows flew in the curves of an eight)
on afternoons of drowsy calm;
there floated the sounds of church chiming.
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