Textarchiv - Thomas Hardy

Going And Staying

mrbot — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:53:20 +0000

The moving sun-shapes on the spray,
The sparkles where the brook was flowing,
Pink faces, plightings, moonlit May,—
These were the things we wished would stay;
But they were going.
Seasons of blankness as of snow,
The silent bleed of a world decaying,
The moan of multitudes in woe,—
These were the things we wished would go;
But they were staying.

Thomas Hardy

A Reverie

mrbot — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:53:20 +0000

Moments the mightiest pass uncalendared,
And when the Absolute
In backward Time outgave the deedful word
Whereby all life is stirred:
“Let one be born and throned whose mould shall constitute
The norm of every royal-reckoned attribute,”
No mortal knew or heard.
But in due days the purposed Life outshone—
Serene, sagacious, free;
—Her waxing seasons bloomed with deeds well done,
And the world’s heart was won . . .
Yet may the deed of hers most bright in eyes to be
Lie hid from ours—as in the All-One’s thought lay she—
Till ripening years have run.

Thomas Hardy

1902

In Time of "The Breaking of Nations"

mrbot — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:53:20 +0000

Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk,
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch grass:
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.
Yonder a maid and her wight
Come whispering by;
War's annals will fade into night
Ere their story die.

Thomas Hardy

The Man He Killed

mrbot — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:53:20 +0000

"Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

"But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

"I shot him dead because—
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

"He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like—just as I—
Was out of work—had sold his traps—
No other reason why.

"Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."

Thomas Hardy