Thomas Hardy
The Self-Unseeing

Here is the ancient floor
Footworn and hollowed and thin
Here was the former door
Where the dead feet walked in

She sat here in her chair
Smiling into the fire;
He who played stood there
Bowing it higher and higher

Childlike, I danced in a dream;
Blessings emblazoned that day;
Everything glowed with a gleam;
Yet we were looking away!