WHEN we as strangers sought <br /> Their catering care, <br /> Veiled smiles bespoke their thought <br /> Of what we were. <br /> They warmed as they opined <br /> Us more than friends-- <br /> That we had all resigned <br /> For love's dear ends. <br /> <br /> And that swift sympathy <br /> With living love <br /> Which quicks the world--maybe <br /> The spheres above, <br /> Made them our ministers, <br /> Moved them to say, <br /> "Ah, God, that bliss like theirs <br /> Would flush our day!" <br /> <br /> And we were left alone <br /> As Love's own pair; <br /> Yet never the love-light shone <br /> Between us there! <br /> But that which chilled the breath <br /> Of afternoon, <br /> And palsied unto death <br /> The pane-fly's tune. <br /> <br /> The kiss their zeal foretold, <br /> And now deemed come, <br /> Came not: within his hold <br /> Love lingered numb. <br /> Why cast he on our port <br /> A bloom not ours? <br /> Why shaped us for his sport <br /> In after-hours? <br /> <br /> As we seemed we were not <br /> That day afar, <br /> And now we seem not what <br /> We aching are. <br /> O severing sea and land, <br /> O laws of men, <br /> Ere death, once let us stand <br /> As we stood then!<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-an-inn/
