Is it worth while, dear, now,

To call for bells, and sally forth arrayed

For marriage-rites—discussed, decried, delayed

         So many years?

      Is it worth while, dear, now,

To stir desire for old fond purposings,

By feints that Time still serves for dallyings,

         Though quittance nears?

      Is it worth while, dear, when

The day being so far spent, so low the sun,

The undone thing will soon be as the done,

      And smiles as tears?

      Is it worth while, dear, when

Our cheeks are worn, our early brown is gray;

When, meet or part we, none says yea or nay,

      Or heeds, or cares?

      Is it worth while, dear, since

We still can climb old Yell’ham’s wooded mounds

Together, as each season steals its rounds

      And disappears?

      Is it worth while, dear, since

As mates in Mellstock churchyard we can lie,

Till the last crash of all things low and high

      Shall end the spheres?