A brokenhearted poem by Thomas Hardy
Sinking down by the gate I discern the moon,
And a blackbird tries over old airs in the pine
But the moon is a sorry one, sad the bird’s tune,
For this spot is unknown to that Heartmate of mine.
Did my Heartmate but haunt here at times such as now,
The song would be joyous and cheerful the moon;
But she will see never this gate, path or bough,
Nor I find a joy in the scene or the tune.