My spirit will not haunt the mound
Above my breast,
But travel, memory-possessed,
To where my tremulous being found
Life largest, best.
My phantom-footed shape will go
When nightfall grays
Hither and thither along the ways
I and another used to know
In backward days.
And there you’ll find me, if a jot
You still should care
For me, and for my curious air;
If otherwise, then I shall not,
For you, be there.
Credits
Thomas Hardy was a Victorian-era English writer celebrated for both his novels and poetry, though he devoted his later decades almost entirely to verse. This poem reflects Hardy's recurring preoccupation with loss, place, and the persistence of love in memory — themes rooted, many scholars believe, in his deeply complicated relationships throughout his life.
