Thomas Hardy - The marble tablet lyrics

There it stands, though alas, what a little of her   Shows in its cold white look! Not her glance, glide, or smile; not a tittle of her   Voice like the purl of a brook;   Not her thoughts, that you read like a book. It may stand for her once in November   When first she breathed, witless of all; Or in heavy years she would remember   When circumstance held her in thrall;   Or at last, when she answered her call! Nothing more. The still marble, date-graven,   Gives all that it can, tersely lined; That one has at length found the haven   Which every one other will find;   With silence on what shone behind.