Thomas Hardy
There was a time in former years—While my roof-tree was his—When I should have been distressed by fearsAt such a night as this.I should have murmured anxiously,“The pricking rain strikes cold;His road is bare of hedge or tree,And he is getting old.”But now the fitful chimney-roar,The drone of Thorncombe trees,The Froom in flood upon the moor,The mud of Mellstock Leaze,The candle slanting sooty wick’d,The thuds upon the thatch,The eaves-drops on the window flicked,The clacking garden-hatch,And what they mean to wayfarers,I scarcely heed or mind;He has won that storm-tight roof of hersWhich Earth grants all her kind.
There was a time in former years—While my roof-tree was his—When I should have been distressed by fearsAt such a night as this.I should have murmured anxiously,“The pricking rain strikes cold;His road is bare of hedge or tree,And he is getting old.”But now the fitful chimney-roar,The drone of Thorncombe trees,The Froom in flood upon the moor,The mud of Mellstock Leaze,The candle slanting sooty wick’d,The thuds upon the thatch,The eaves-drops on the window flicked,The clacking garden-hatch,And what they mean to wayfarers,I scarcely heed or mind;He has won that storm-tight roof of hersWhich Earth grants all her kind.
There was a time in former years—While my roof-tree was his—When I should have been distressed by fearsAt such a night as this.
There was a time in former years—
While my roof-tree was his—
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this.
I should have murmured anxiously,“The pricking rain strikes cold;His road is bare of hedge or tree,And he is getting old.”
I should have murmured anxiously,
“The pricking rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.”
But now the fitful chimney-roar,The drone of Thorncombe trees,The Froom in flood upon the moor,The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The candle slanting sooty wick’d,The thuds upon the thatch,The eaves-drops on the window flicked,The clacking garden-hatch,
The candle slanting sooty wick’d,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves-drops on the window flicked,
The clacking garden-hatch,
And what they mean to wayfarers,I scarcely heed or mind;He has won that storm-tight roof of hersWhich Earth grants all her kind.
And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair.Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,Standing as when I drew near to the townWhere you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,Even to the original air-blue gown!Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessnessTravelling across the wet mead to me here,You being ever consigned to existlessness,Heard no more again far or near?Thus I; faltering forward,Leaves around me falling,Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norwardAnd the woman calling.
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair.Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,Standing as when I drew near to the townWhere you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,Even to the original air-blue gown!Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessnessTravelling across the wet mead to me here,You being ever consigned to existlessness,Heard no more again far or near?Thus I; faltering forward,Leaves around me falling,Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norwardAnd the woman calling.
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair.
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.
Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,Standing as when I drew near to the townWhere you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,Even to the original air-blue gown!
Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,
Standing as when I drew near to the town
Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,
Even to the original air-blue gown!
Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessnessTravelling across the wet mead to me here,You being ever consigned to existlessness,Heard no more again far or near?Thus I; faltering forward,Leaves around me falling,Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norwardAnd the woman calling.
Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness
Travelling across the wet mead to me here,
You being ever consigned to existlessness,
Heard no more again far or near?
Thus I; faltering forward,
Leaves around me falling,
Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward
And the woman calling.
“O lonely workman, standing thereIn a dream, why do you stare and stareAt her grave, as no other grave there were?“If your great gaunt eyes so importuneHer soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”“Why, fool, it is what I would rather seeThan all the living folk there be;But alas, there is no such joy for me!”“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,Through good and evil, through rain and drought,And when she passed, all your sun went out?”“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,Whom all the others were ranked above,Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”
“O lonely workman, standing thereIn a dream, why do you stare and stareAt her grave, as no other grave there were?“If your great gaunt eyes so importuneHer soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”“Why, fool, it is what I would rather seeThan all the living folk there be;But alas, there is no such joy for me!”“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,Through good and evil, through rain and drought,And when she passed, all your sun went out?”“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,Whom all the others were ranked above,Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”
“O lonely workman, standing thereIn a dream, why do you stare and stareAt her grave, as no other grave there were?
“O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave there were?
“If your great gaunt eyes so importuneHer soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”
“If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,
Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”
“Why, fool, it is what I would rather seeThan all the living folk there be;But alas, there is no such joy for me!”
“Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!”
“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,Through good and evil, through rain and drought,And when she passed, all your sun went out?”
“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?”
“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,Whom all the others were ranked above,Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”
“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the others were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”
“Had he and I but metBy some old ancient inn,We should have sat us down to wetRight many a nipperkin!“But ranged as infantry,And staring face to face,I shot at him as he at me,And killed him in his place.“I shot him dead because—Because he was my foe,Just so: my foe of course he was;That’s clear enough; although“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,Off-hand like—just as I—Was out of work—had sold his traps—No other reason why.“Yes; quaint and curious war is!You shoot a fellow downYou’d treat if met where any bar is,Or help to half-a-crown.”
“Had he and I but metBy some old ancient inn,We should have sat us down to wetRight many a nipperkin!“But ranged as infantry,And staring face to face,I shot at him as he at me,And killed him in his place.“I shot him dead because—Because he was my foe,Just so: my foe of course he was;That’s clear enough; although“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,Off-hand like—just as I—Was out of work—had sold his traps—No other reason why.“Yes; quaint and curious war is!You shoot a fellow downYou’d treat if met where any bar is,Or help to half-a-crown.”
“Had he and I but metBy some old ancient inn,We should have sat us down to wetRight many a nipperkin!
“Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
“But ranged as infantry,And staring face to face,I shot at him as he at me,And killed him in his place.
“But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
“I shot him dead because—Because he was my foe,Just so: my foe of course he was;That’s clear enough; although
“I shot him dead because—
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That’s clear enough; although
“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,Off-hand like—just as I—Was out of work—had sold his traps—No other reason why.
“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,
Off-hand like—just as I—
Was out of work—had sold his traps—
No other reason why.
“Yes; quaint and curious war is!You shoot a fellow downYou’d treat if met where any bar is,Or help to half-a-crown.”
“Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You’d treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown.”