Literature Network » Thomas Hardy » Moments of Vision » The Faded Face

The Faded Face

How was this I did not see
Such a look as here was shown
Ere its womanhood had blown
Past its first felicity? -
That I did not know you young,
   Faded Face,
      Know you young!
Why did Time so ill bestead
That I heard no voice of yours
Hail from out the curved contours
Of those lips when rosy red;
Weeted not the songs they sung,
   Faded Face,
      Songs they sung!
By these blanchings, blooms of old,
And the relics of your voice -
Leavings rare of rich and choice
From your early tone and mould -
Let me mourn,--aye, sorrow-wrung,
   Faded Face,
      Sorrow-wrung!

Literature Network » Thomas Hardy » Moments of Vision » The Faded Face