Explore "The Voice" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
WOMAN much missed, how you call to me, call to me, / Saying that now you are not as you were / When you had changed from the one who was all to me, / But as at first, when our day was fair.
Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, / Standing as when I drew near to the town / Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then, / Even to the original air-blue gown!
Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness / Travelling across the wet mead to me here, / You being ever consigned to existlessness, / Heard no more again far or near?
Thus I; faltering forward, / Leaves around me falling, / Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward / And the woman calling.