Her Love-Birds

When I looked up at my love-birds

That Sunday afternoon,

There was in their tiny tune

A dying fetch like broken words,

When I looked up at my love-birds

That Sunday afternoon.

When he, too, scanned the love-birds

On entering there that day,

'Twas as if he had nought to say

Of his long journey citywards,

When he, too, scanned the love-birds,

On entering there that day.

And billed and billed the love-birds,

As 'twere in fond despair

At the stress of silence where

Had once been tones in tenor thirds,

And billed and billed the love-birds

As 'twere in fond despair.

O, his speech that chilled the love-birds,

And smote like death on me,

As I learnt what was to be,

And knew my life was broke in sherds!

O, his speech that chilled the love-birds,

And smote like death on me!

Quote from a Hardy novel

“Don't think of what's past!" said she. "I am not going to think outside of now. Why should we! Who knows what tomorrow has in store? ”  (Tess of the D'Urbervilles)

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