Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive robin-song,
When flowers are in their tombs.
Through the slow summer, when the sun
Called to each frond and whorl
That all he could for flowers was being done,
Why did it not uncurl?
It must have felt that fervid call
Although it took no heed,
Waking but now, when leaves like corpses fall,
And saps all retrocede.
Too late its beauty, lonely thing,
The season's shine is spent,
Nothing remains for it but shivering
In tempests turbulent.
Had it a reason for delay,
Dreaming in witlessness
That for a bloom so delicately gay
Winter would stay its stress?
- I talk as if the thing were born
With sense to work its mind;
Yet it is but one mask of many worn
By the Great Face behind.
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Fri 10.15.2010 at 13:35
I LONGED to love a full-boughed beech
And be as high as he:
I stretched an arm within his reach,
And signalled unity.
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Tue 10.12.2010 at 20:01
He was leaning by a face,
He was looking into eyes,
And he knew a trysting-place,
And he heard seductive sighs;
But the face,
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Wed 10.06.2010 at 17:12
For long the cruel wish I knew
That your free heart should ache for me
While mine should bear no ache for you;
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Sun 09.12.2010 at 03:46
"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
written by Thomas Hardy, published on Fri 09.03.2010 at 22:10
Some say the spot is banned; that the pillar Cross-and-Hand
Attests to a deed of hell;