Poem by Thomas Hardy

First or Last

      (Song)

If grief come early
Joy comes late,
If joy come early
Grief will wait;
Aye, my dear and tender!

Wise ones joy them early
While the cheeks are red,
Banish grief till surly
Time has dulled their dread.

And joy being ours
Ere youth has flown,
The later hours
May find us gone;
Aye, my dear and tender!

1. Silences
2. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
3. The Month’s Calendar
4. Genitrix Laesa
5. The Dead Bastard

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