Amabel

Amabel by Thomas Hardy(excerpt)

I maked her ruined hues,

her custom-straitened views,

and asked, “Can there indwell my Amabel?”

I looked upon her gown,

once rose, now earthen brown;

The change was like the knell of Amabel.

Her step’s mechanic ways

had lost the life of May's;

Her laugh, once sweet in swell,spoilt Amabel.

I mused: “Who sings the strain

I sang ere warmth did wane?

Who thinks its numbers spell his Amabel?”

‘Till the Last Trump, farewell,O Amabel!’

1865