It was what you bore with you, Woman,
Not inly were,
That throned you from all else human,
However fair!
It was that strange freshness you carried
Into a soul
Whereon no thought of yours tarried
Two moments at all.
And out from his spirit flew death,
And bale, and ban,
Like the corn-chaff under the breath
Of the winnowing-fan.
Without, Not Within Her
Thomas Hardy
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Poem topics: breath, death, woman, soul, human, spirit, thought, strange, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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