Thomas Hardy




The Sigh

Little head against my shoulder
Shy at first, then somewhat bolder,
        And up-eyed;
Till she, with a timid quaver,
Yielded to the kiss I gave her;
        But, she sighed.

That there mingled with her feeling
Some sad thought she was concealing
        It implied.
— Not that she had ceased to love me;
None on earth she set above me;
        But she sighed.

She could not disguise a passion,
Dread, or doubt, in weakest fashion
        If she tried:
Nothing seemed to hold us sundered,
Hearts were victors; so I wondered
        Why she sighed.

Afterwards I knew her throughly,
And she loved me staunchly, truly,
        Till she died;
But she never made confession
Why, at that first sweet concession,
        She had sighed.

It was in our May, remember;
And though now I near November,
        And abide
Till my appointed change, unfretting,
Sometimes I sit half regretting
        That she sighed.