Regret not me;

Beneath the sunny tree

I lie uncaring, sleeping peacefully.

Swift as the light

I flew my faery 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

These songs we sang when we went gipsying.

And lightly dance

Some triple-timed romance

In coupled figures, and forget mischance;


And mourn not me

Beneath the yellowing tree;

For I shall mind not, slumbering peacefully


Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928)