Your Last Drive by Thomas Hardy — Read

HERE by the moorway you returned, / And saw the borough lights ahead / That lit your face-all undiscerned / To be in a week the face of the dead, / And you told of the charm of that haloed view / That never again would beam on you.

And on your left you passed the spot / Where eight days later you were to lie, / And be spoken of as one who was not; / Beholding it with a cursory eye / As alien from you, though under its tree / You soon would halt everlastingly.