You did not come, and marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there than that I
thus found lacking in your make. That high compassion which
can over bear. Reluctance for pure loving kindess' sake.
Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum. You did not come.
You love not me, and love alone can lend you loyalty;
I know and knew it. But, unto the store of human deeds divine
in all but name, Was it not worth a little hour or more to add yet this:
Once you, a man, came to soothe a time torn woman; even though it be
You love me not?
- Thomas Hardy