Thomas Hardy
The last time
The kiss had been given and taken,
       &nbsp And gathered to many past:
It never could reawaken;
       &nbsp But you heard none say: “It’s the last!”

The clock showed the hour and the minute,
       &nbsp But you did not turn and look:
You read no finis in it,
       &nbsp As at closing of a book.

But you read it all too rightly
       &nbsp When, at a time anon,
A figure lay stretched out whitely,
       &nbsp And you stood looking thereon.