Wessex Poems by Thomas Hardy - 37/48. To a Lady Offended by a Book... (read by Libby Gohn)

Thomas Hardy
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XXXVII.
TO A LADY OFFENDED BY A BOOK OF THE WRITERS
Now that my page up closes, doomed may be, Never to press thy cosy cushions more,
Or wake thy ready yeas as heretofore, Or stir thy gentle vows of faith in me.
Knowing thy natural receptivity, I figure that, as flambeau banished eve,
My sombre image, warped by insidious heave, Of those less forthright, must lose place
in thee.
So be it, I have borne such.
Let thy dreams of me and mine Diminish day by day,
And yield their space to shrine of smugger things,
Till I shape to thee but in fitful gleams, And then in far and feeble visitings.
And then, surcease, truth will be truth always.
