First Sight of her and After by Thomas Hardy

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A DAY is drawing to its fall / I had not dreamed to see; / The first of many to enthrall / My spirit, will it be? / Or is this eve the end of all / Such new delight for me?

I journey home: the pattern grows / Of moonshades on the way: / "Soon the first quarter, I suppose," / Sky-glancing travellers say; / I realize that it, for those, / Has been a common day.

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