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Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy

To Outer Nature

SHOW thee as I thought thee
    When I early sought thee,
      Omen-scouting,
      All undoubting
    Love alone had wrought thee—
 
    Wrought thee for my pleasure,
    Planned thee as a measure
      For expounding
      And resounding
    Glad things that men treasure.
 
    O for but a moment
    Of that old endowment—
      Light to gaily
      See thy daily
    Irisèd embowment!
 
    But such readorning
    Time forbids with scorning—
      Makes me see things
      Cease to be things
    They were in my morning.
 
    Fad’st thou, glow-forsaken,
    Darkness-overtaken!
      Thy first sweetness,
      Radiance, meetness,
    None shall reawaken.
 
    Why not sempiternal
    Thou and I? Our vernal
      Brightness keeping,
      Time outleaping;
    Passed the hodiernal!

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Autres oeuvres par Thomas Hardy...
On an Invitation to the United States.

My ardours for emprize nigh lost Since Life has bared its bones to… I shrink to seek a modern coast Whose riper times have yet to be; Where the new regions claim them f…
Drummer Hodge

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to r… Uncoffined—just as found: His landmark is a kopje-crest That breaks the veldt around: And foreign constellations west
In a Wood

In a Wood Pale beech and pine-tree blue, Set in one clay, Bough to bough cannot you Bide out your day?
The Selfsame Song

A bird sings the selfsame song, With never a fault in its flow, That we listened to here those lon… Long years ago. A pleasing marvel is how
The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre—grey, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine—stems scored the…
 2
Cardinal Bembo’s Epitaph on Raphael

Here’s one in whom Nature feared—… Eclipse while he lived, and deceas…
The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the… “Now they are all on their knees,” An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek mild creature…
The West

A very West-of-Wessex girl, As blithe as blithe could be, Was once well-known to me, And she would laud her native town… And hope and hope that we
I looked up from my writing

I looked up from my writing, And gave a start to see, As if rapt in my inditing, The moon's full gaze on me. Her meditative misty head
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She, to Him

When you shall see me in the toils… My lauded beauties carried off fro… My eyes no longer stars as in thei… My name forgot of Maiden Fair and… When, in your being, heart concede…
 2
Her Reproach

Con the dead page as 'twere live l… Cold wisdom’s words will ease thy… Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and… To biting blasts that are intent o… But if thy object Fame’s far summ…
The To

I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs a… “Wherefore, old friends,” said I,… Now, screened from life’s unrest?” —"O not at being here;
At the War Office, London.

Last year I called this world of… The darkest thinkable, and questio… If my own land could heave its pul… So charged it seemed with circumst… The tragedy of things.
A Dream Or No

Why go to Saint-Juliot? What’s J… I’ve been but made fancy By some necromancy That much of my life claims the sp… Yes. I have had dreams of that pl…
To a Lady

Offended by a Book of the Writer’… NOW that my page upcloses, doomed… Never to press thy cosy cushions m… Or wake thy ready Yeas as heretof… Or stir thy gentle vows of faith i…



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