| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 152. In the Moonlight |
| | | By Thomas Hardy |
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| “O LONELY workman, standing there | |
| In a dream, why do you stare and stare | |
| At her grave, as no other grave there were? | |
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| “If your great gaunt eyes so importune | |
| Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon, | 5 |
| Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!” | |
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| “Why, fool, it is what I would rather see | |
| Than all the living folk there be; | |
| But alas, there is no such joy for me!” | |
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| “Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt, | 10 |
| Through good and evil, through rain and drought, | |
| And when she passed, all your sun went out?” | |
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| “Nay: she was the woman I did not love, | |
| Whom all the others were ranked above, | |
| Whom during her life I thought nothing of.” | 15 |
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