Explore "After the Last Breath" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
(J. H. 1813–1904)
THERE'S no more to be done, or feared, or hoped; / None now need watch, speak low, and list, and tire; / No irksome crease outsmoothed, no pillow sloped / Does she require.
Blankly we gaze. We are free to go or stay; / Our morrow's anxious plans have missed their aim; / Whether we leave to-night or wait till day / Counts as the same.
The lettered vessels of medicaments / Seem asking wherefore we have set them here; / Each palliative its silly face presents / As useless gear.
And yet we feel that something savours well; / We note a numb relief withheld before; / Our well-beloved is prisoner in the cell / Of Time no more.
We see by littles now the deft achievement / Whereby she has escaped the Wrongers all, / In view of which our momentary bereavement / Outshapes but small.