Thomas Hardy


‘Hap’

If but some vengeful god would call to me

From up in the sky, and laugh: ‘Thou suffering thing,

Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,

that thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!’

Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,

Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;

Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I

Has willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,

And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?

Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,

And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan…

These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown

Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

Published in: on 7 octubre 2010 at 12:28 pm  Dejar un comentario  

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