Another of my favorite poems. And my favorite authors.
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| THE TWO were silent in a sunless church, | |
| Whose mildewed walls, uneven paving-stones, | |
| And wasted carvings passed antique research; | |
And nothing broke the clock’s dull monotones.
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| Leaning against a wormy poppy-head, | 5 |
| So wan and worn that he could scarcely stand, | |
| —For he was soon to die,—he softly said, | |
“Tell me you love me!”—holding hard her hand.
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| She would have given a world to breathe “yes” truly, | |
| So much his life seemed hanging on her mind, | 10 |
| And hence she lied, her heart persuaded throughly, | |
’Twas worth her soul to be a moment kind.
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| But the sad need thereof, his nearing death, | |
| So mocked humanity that she shamed to prize | |
| A world conditioned thus, or care for breath | 15 |
| Where Nature such dilemmas could devise. |
-Thomas Hardy
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