A Wife In London - Thomas Hardy (1899)

I--The Tragedy

She sits in the tawny vapour

   That the City lanes have uprolled,

   Behind whose webby fold on fold

Like a waning taper

   The street-lamp glimmers cold.


A messenger's knock cracks smartly,

   Flashed news in her hand

   Of meaning it dazes to understand

Though shaped so shortly:

   He-- has fallen--in the far South Land. . .

II--The Irony

'Tis the morrow, the fog hangs thicker,

   The postman nears and goes:

   A letter is brought whose lines disclose

By the firelight flicker

   His hand, whom the worm now knows.


Fresh--firm--penned in the highest feather -

   Page-full of his hoped return,

   And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn,

In the summer weather,

   And of new love they would learn.


LeaveAndTakeMeWithYou LeaveAndTakeMeWithYou
18-21, F
3 Responses Nov 19, 2008


wow VERY good poem. Nice choice!

It's so sad, I cry every time I read it yet so many women experienced this during any war. It's so sad.