I play my sweet old airs -
The airs he knew
When our love was true -
But he does not balk
His determined walk,
And passes up the stairs.
I sing my songs once more,
And presently hear
His footstep near
As if it would stay;
But he goes his way,
And shuts a distant door.
So I wait for another morn
And another night
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!
Lost Love
Thomas Hardy
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Poem topics: night, sick, walk, woman, soul, sweet, wait, play, stay, hear, door, true, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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