This love puts all humanity from me;
I can but maledict her, pray her dead,
For giving love and getting love of thee?
Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed!
How much I love I know not, life not known,
Save as some unit I would add love by;
But this I know, my being is but thine own?
Fused from its separateness by ecstasy.
And thus I grasp thy amplitudes, of her
Ungrasped, though helped by nigh-regarding eyes;
Canst thou then hate me as an envier
Who see unrecked what I so dearly prize?
Believe me, Lost One, Love is lovelier
The more it shapes its moans in selfish-wise.
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Sat 01.17.2009 at 14:52
O sweet To-morrow! -
There will away
This sense of sorrow.
Then let us borrow
Hope, for a gleaming
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Thu 01.15.2009 at 07:27
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Sat 01.03.2009 at 03:47
If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Fri 01.02.2009 at 20:42
Long have I framed weak phantasies of Thee,
O Willer masked and dumb!
Who makest Life become, -
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Fri 12.12.2008 at 09:57
AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
Which sight could scarce sustain:
The black lean land, of featureless contour,