Amabel by Thomas Hardy(excerpt)
I maked her ruined hues,
her custom-straitened views,
and asked, “Can there indwell my Amabel?”
I looked upon her gown,
once rose, now earthen brown;
The change was like the knell of Amabel.
Her step’s mechanic ways
had lost the life of May's;
Her laugh, once sweet in swell,spoilt Amabel.
I mused: “Who sings the strain
I sang ere warmth did wane?
Who thinks its numbers spell his Amabel?”
‘Till the Last Trump, farewell,O Amabel!’
1865