The Passer-By by Thomas Hardy

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(L. H. RECALLS HER ROMANCE)

He used to pass, well-trimmed and brushed, / My window every day, / And when I smiled on him he blushed, / That youth, quite as a girl might; aye, / In the shyest way.

Thus often did he pass hereby, / That youth of bounding gait, / Until the one who blushed was I, / And he became, as here I sate, / My joy, my fate.

And now he passes by no more, / That youth I loved too true! / I grieve should he, as here of yore, / Pass elsewhere, seated in his view, / Some maiden new!

If such should be, alas for her! / He'll make her feel him dear, / Become her daily comforter, / Then tire him of her beauteous gear, / And disappear!

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