His Visitor I come across from Mellstock while the moon wastes weaker To behold where I lived with you for twenty years and more: I shall go in the gray, at the passing of the mail-train, And need no setting open of the long familiar door As before. The change I notice in my once own quarters! A brilliant budded border where the daisies used to be, The rooms new painted, and the pictures altered, And other cups and saucers, and no cosy nook for tea As with me. I discern the dim faces of the sleep-wrapt servants; They are not those who tended me through feeble hours and strong, But strangers quite, who never knew my rule here, Who never saw me painting, never heard my softling song Float along. So I dont want to linger in this re-decked dwelling, I feel too uneasy at the contrasts I behold, And I make again for Mellstock to return here never, And rejoin the roomy silence, and the mute and manifold Souls of old. I Have Lived With Shades I I have lived with shades so long, And talked to them so oft, Since forth from cot and croft I went mankind among, That sometimes they In their dim style Will pause awhile To hear my say; II And take me by the hand, And lead me through their rooms In the To-be, where Dooms Half-wove and shapeless stand: And show from there The dwindled dust And rot and rust Of things that were. III Now turn, spake they to me One day: Look whence we came, And signify his name Who gazes thence at thee. - --Nor name nor race Know I, or can, I said, Of man So commonplace. IV He moves me not at all; I note no ray or jot Of rareness in his lot, Or star exceptional. Into the dim Dead throngs around Hell sink, nor sound Be left of him. V Yet, said they, his frail speech, Hath accents pitched like thine - Thy mould and his define A likeness each to each - But go! Deep pain Alas, would be His name to thee, And told in vain! O memory, where is now my youth, Who used to say that life was truth? I saw him in a crumbled cot Beneath a tottering tree; That he as phantom lingers there Is only known to me. O Memory, where is now my joy, Who lived with me in sweet employ? I saw him in gaunt gardens lone, Where laughter used to be; That he as phantom wanders there Is known to none but me. O Memory, where is now my hope, Who charged with deeds my skill and scope? I saw her in a tomb of tomes, Where dreams are wont to be; That she as spectre haunteth there Is only known to me. O Memory, where is now my faith, One time a champion, now a wraith? I saw her in a ravaged aisle, Bowed down on bended knee; That her poor ghost outflickers there Is known to none but me. O Memory, where is now my love, That rayed me as a god above? I saw him by an ageing shape Where beauty used to be; That his fond phantom lingers there Is only known to me. I Said to Love I said to Love, It is not now as in old days When men adored thee and thy ways All else above; Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One Who spread a heaven beneath the sun, I said to Love. I said to him, We now know more of thee than then; We were but weak in judgment when, With hearts abrim, We clamoured thee that thou wouldst please Inflict on us thine agonies, I said to him. I said to Love, Thou art not young, thou art not fair, No faery darts, no cherub air, Nor swan, nor dove Are thine; but features pitiless, And iron daggers of distress, I said to Love. Depart then, Love! . . . - Mans race shall end, dost threaten thou? The age to come the man of now Know nothing of? - We fear not such a threat from thee; We are too old in apathy! Mankind shall cease.--So let it be, I said to Love. Thomas Hardy
Posted on: Tue, 05 Nov 2013 21:53:28 +0000