THE NEWCOMER'S WIFE

By Thomas Hardy

He paused on the sill of a door ajar

That screened a lively liquor-bar,

For the name had reached him through the door

Of her he had married the week before.

“We called her the Hack of the Parade;

But she was discreet in the games she played;

If slightly worn, she's pretty yet,

And gossips, after all, forget.

“And he knows nothing of her past;

I am glad the girl's in luck at last;

Such ones, though stale to native eyes,

Newcomers snatch at as a prize.”

“Yes, being a stranger he sees her blent

Of all that's fresh and innocent,

Nor dreams how many a love-campaign

She had enjoyed before his reign!”

That night there was the splash of a fall

Over the slimy harbour-wall:

They searched, and at the deepest place

Found him with crabs upon his face.