Regret not me;
Beneath the sunny tree
I lie uncaring, slumbering peacefully.
Swift as the light
I flew my feary flight;
Ecstatically I moved, and feared no night.
I did not know
That heydays fade and go,
But deemed that what was would be always so.
I skipped at morn
Between the yellowing corn,
Thinking it good and glorious to be born.
I ran at eves
Among the piled-up sheaves,
dreaming, "I grieve not, therefore nothing grieves."
Now soon will come
The apple, pear, and plum,
And hinds will sing, and autumn insects hum.
Again you will fare
To cider-makings rare,
And junketings; but I shall not be there.
Yet gaily sing
Until the pewter ring
Those songs when we went gipsying.
And lightly dance
Some triple-timed romance
In coupled figures, and forget mischance;
And morn not me
Beneath the yellowing tree;
For I shall mind not, slumbering peacefully.
(By "Thomas Hardy")
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