In Her Precincts - Thomas Hardy

Her house looked cold from the foggy lea,
And the square of each window a dull black blur
Where showed no stir:
Yes, her gloom within at the lack of me
Seemed matching mine at the lack of her.

The black squares grew to be squares of light
As the eyeshade swathed the house and lawn,
And viols gave tone;
There was glee within. And I found that night
The gloom of severance mine alone.

The December Rose
The Rival
In Her Precincts
I Am Not Yours
Song At Capri
Debt
The Silent Lover
The Heart of Stone
Platonic