I MARKED her ruined hues,
  Her custom-straitened views,
  And asked, "Can there indwell
  My Amabel?"

  I looked upon her gown,
  Once rose, now earthen brown;
  The change was like the knell
  Of Amabel.

  Her step's mechanic ways
  Had lost the life of May's;
  Her laugh, once sweet in swell,
  Spoilt Amabel.

  I mused: "Who sings the strain
  I sang ere warmth did wane?
  Who thinks its numbers spell
  His Amabel?"--

  Knowing that, though Love cease,
  Love's race shows undecrease;
  All find in dorp or dell
  An Amabel.

  --I felt that I could creep
  To some housetop, and weep,
  That Time the tyrant fell
  Ruled Amabel!

  I said (the while I sighed
  That love like ours had died),
  "Fond things I'll no more tell
  To Amabel,

  "But leave her to her fate,
  And fling across the gate,
  'Till the Last Trump, farewell,
  O Amabel!'"

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Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy, was a Scottish Minister, Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Professor of Eccesiastical History at Edinburgh University. more…

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"Amabel" STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 22 Feb. 2020. <>.

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