Dear, think not that they will forget you:
If craftsmanly art should be mine
I will build up a temple, and set you
Therein as its shrine.
They may say: "Why a woman such honour?"
Be told, "O, so sweet was her fame,
That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
None now knows his name."
Her Temple
Thomas Hardy
(1)
Poem topics: woman, dear, sweet, forget, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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