Lost Love

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy portrait

1840 to 1928

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Lost Love - Track 1

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I play my sweet old airs — 
The airs he knew 
When our love was true — 
But he does not balk 
His determined walk, 
And passes up the stairs. 

I sing my songs once more, 
And presently hear 
His footstep near 
As if it would stay; 
But he goes his way, 
And shuts a distant door. 

So I wait for another morn, 
And another night 
In this soul-sick blight; 
And I wonder much 
As I sit, why such 
A woman as I was born! 

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