How she would have loved <br />A party to-day! - <br />Bright-hatted and gloved, <br />With table and tray <br />And chairs on the lawn <br />Her smiles would have shone <br />With welcomings…. But <br />She is shut, she is shut <br />From friendship's spell <br />In the jailing shell <br />Of her tiny cell. <br /> <br /> <br />Or she would have reigned <br />At a dinner tonight <br />With ardours unfeigned, <br />And a generous delight; <br />All in her abode <br />She'd have freely bestowed <br />On her guests…. But alas, <br />She is shut under grass <br />Where no cups flow, <br />Powerless to know <br />That it might be so. <br /> <br /> <br />And she would have sought <br />With a child's eager glance <br />The shy snowdrops brought <br />By the new year's advance, <br />And peered in the rime <br />Of Candlemas-time <br />For crocuses… chanced <br />It that she were not tranced <br />From sights she loved best; <br />Wholly possessed <br />By an infinite rest! <br /> <br /> <br />And we are here staying <br />Amid these stale things <br />Who care not for gaying, <br />And those junketings <br />That wed so to joy her, <br />And never to cloy her <br />As us they cloy!… But <br />She is shut, she is shut <br />From the cheer of them, dead <br />To all done and said <br />In a yew-arched bed.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-30/
