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1840–1928

XIII — ON THE DEATH-BED

Thomas Hardy

“I'll tell — being past all praying for - Then promptly die... He was out at the war, And got some scent of the intimacy That was under way between her and me;

And he stole back home, and appeared like a ghost One night, at the very time almost That I reached her house. Well, I shot him dead, And secretly buried him. Nothing was said.

“The news of the battle came next day; He was scheduled missing. I hurried away, Got out there, visited the field, And sent home word that a search revealed

He was one of the slain; though, lying alone And stript, his body had not been known. “But she suspected. I lost her love, Yea, my hope of earth, and of Heaven above;

And my time's now come, and I'll pay the score, Though it be burning for evermore.”

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XIII — ON THE DEATH-BED · Thomas Hardy · Poetry Cove