Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, <br />Saying that now you are not as you were <br />When you had changed from the one who was all to me, <br />But as at first, when our day was fair. <br />Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, <br />Standing as when I drew near to the town <br />Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then, <br />Even to the original air-blue gown! <br />Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness <br />Travelling across the wet mead to me here, <br />You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness, <br />Heard no more again far or near? <br /> <br />Thus I; faltering forward, <br />Leaves around me falling, <br />Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward, <br />And the woman calling.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voice-35/
