Poem by Thomas Hardy

Her Confession

As some bland soul, to whom a debtor says
‘I’ll now repay the amount I owe to you,’
In inward gladness feigns forgetfulness
That such a payment ever was his due

(His long thought notwithstanding), so did I
At our last meeting waive your proffered kiss
With quick divergent talk of scenery nigh,
By such suspension to enhance my bliss.

And as his looks in consternation fall
When, gathering that the debt is lightly deemed,
The debtor makes as not to pay at all,
So faltered I, when your intention seemed

Converted by my false uneagerness
To putting off for ever the caress.

1. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
2. The Month’s Calendar
3. The Dead Bastard
4. In Death Divided
5. Paths of Former Time

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