| Her Immortality | |
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| Thomas Hardy (1898) | |
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Upon a noon I pilgrimed through A pasture, mile by mile, Unto the place where last I saw My dead Love’s living smile. And sorrowing I lay me down Upon the heated sod: It seemed as if my body pressed The very ground she trod. I lay, and thought; and in a trance She came and stood thereby — The same, even to the marvellous ray That used to light her eye. “You draw me, and I come to you, My faithful one,” she said, In voice that had the moving tone It bore ere she was wed. “Seven years have circled since I died: Few now remember me; My husband clasps another bride: My children’s love has she. “My brethren, sisters, and my friends Care not to meet my sprite: Who prized me most I did not know Till I passed down from sight.” I said: “My days are lonely here; I need thy smile alway: I’ll use this night my ball or blade, And join thee ere the day.” A tremor stirred her tender lips, Which parted to dissuade: “That cannot be, O friend,” she cried; “Think, I am but a Shade! “A Shade but in its mindful ones Has immortality; By living, me you keep alive, By dying you slay me. “In you resides my single power Of sweet continuance here; On your fidelity I count Through many a coming year.” — I started through me at her plight, So suddenly confessed: Dismissing late distaste for life, I craved its bleak unrest. “I will not die, my One of all! — To lengthen out thy days I’ll guard me from minutest harms That may invest my ways!” She smiled and went. Since then she comes Oft when her birth-moon climbs, Or at the seasons’ ingresses, Or anniversary times; But grows my grief. When I surcease, Through whom alone lives she, Her spirit ends its living lease, Never again to be! 
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