First Sight of Her and After
A day is drawing to its fall
I had not dreamed to see;
The first of many to enthrall
My spirit, will it be?
Or is this eve the end of all
Such new delight for me?
I journey home: the patterns grow
Of moonshades on the way:
'Soon the first quarter, I suppose,'
Sky-glancing travellers say;
I realize that it, for those,
Has been a common day.
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Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
