Thomas Hardy
Rake-hell muses
Yes; since she knows not need,
  Nor walks in blindness,
I may without unkindness
  A true thing tell:
Which would be truth, indeed,
 Though worse in speaking,
Were her poor footsteps seeking
  A pauper’s cell.
I judge, then, better far
  She now have sorrow,
Than gladness that to-morrow
  Might know its knell. -
It may be men there are
  Could make of union
A lifelong sweet communion -
  A passioned spell;
But I, to save her name
  And bring salvation
By altar-affirmation
  And bridal bell;
I, by whose rash unshame
  These tears come to her:-
My faith would more undo her
  Than my farewell!
Chained to me, year by year
  My moody madness
Would wither her old gladness
  Like famine fell.
She’ll take the ill that’s near,
  And bear the blaming.
‘Twill pass. Full soon her shaming
  They’ll cease to yell.
Our unborn, first her moan,
  Will grow her guerdon,
Until from blot and burden
  A joyance swell;
In that therein she’ll own
  My good part wholly,
My evil staining solely
  My own vile vell.
Of the disgrace, may be
  “He shunned to share it,
Being false,” they’ll say. I’ll bear it;
  Time will dispel
The calumny, and prove
  This much about me,
That she lives best without me
  Who would live well.
That, this once, not self-love
  But good intention
Pleads that against convention
  We two rebel.
For, is one moonlight dance,
  One midnight passion,
A rock whereon to fashion
  Life’s citadel?
Prove they their power to prance
  Life’s miles together
From upper slope to nether
  Who trip an ell?
- Years hence, or now apace,
  May tongues be calling
News of my further falling
  Sinward pell-mell:
Then this great good will grace
 Our lives’ division,
She’s saved from more misprision
  Though I plumb hell.
