The Complete Poetical Works. Томас Харди
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Название: The Complete Poetical Works
Автор: Томас Харди
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027241361
isbn:
“Why warbles he that skies are fair
And coombs alight,” she cried, “and fallows gay,
When I have placed no sunshine in the air
Or glow on earth to-day?”
“’Tis in the comedy of things
That such should be,” returned the one of Doom;
“Charge now the scene with brightest blazonings,
And he shall call them gloom.”
She gave the word: the sun outbroke,
All Froomside shone, the hedgebirds raised a song;
And later Hodge, upon the midday stroke,
Returned the lane along,
Low murmuring: “O this bitter scene,
And thrice accurst horizon hung with gloom!
How deadly like this sky, these fields, these treen,
To trappings of the tomb!”
The Beldame then: “The fool and blind!
Such mad perverseness who may apprehend?”—
“Nay; there’s no madness in it; thou shalt find
Thy law there,” said her friend.
“When Hodge went forth ’twas to his Love,
To make her, ere this eve, his wedded prize,
And Earth, despite the heaviness above,
Was bright as Paradise.
“But I sent on my messenger,
With cunning arrows poisonous and keen,
To take forthwith her laughing life from her,
And dull her little een,
“And white her cheek, and still her breath,
Ere her too buoyant Hodge had reached her side;
So, when he came, he clasped her but in death,
And never as his bride.
“And there’s the humour, as I said;
Thy dreary dawn he saw as gleaming gold,
And in thy glistening green and radiant red
Funereal gloom and cold.”
The Tree
An Old Man’s Story
I
Its roots are bristling in the air
Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny hair;
The loud south-wester’s swell and yell
Smote it at midnight, and it fell.
Thus ends the tree
Where Some One sat with me.
II
Its boughs, which none but darers trod,
A child may step on from the sod,
And twigs that earliest met the dawn
Are lit the last upon the lawn.
Cart off the tree
Beneath whose trunk sat we!
III
Yes, there we sat: she cooed content,
And bats ringed round, and daylight went;
The gnarl, our seat, is wrenched and sunk,
Prone that queer pocket in the trunk
Where lay the key
To her pale mystery.
IV
“Years back, within this pocket-hole
I found, my Love, a hurried scrawl
Meant not for me,” at length said I;
“I glanced thereat, and let it lie:
The words were three—
‘Beloved, I agree.’
V
“Who placed it here; to what request
It gave assent, I never guessed.
Some prayer of some hot heart, no doubt,
To some coy maiden hereabout,
Just as, maybe,
With you, Sweet Heart, and me.”
VI
She waited, till with quickened breath
She spoke, as one who banisheth
Reserves that lovecraft heeds so well,
To ease some mighty wish to tell:
“’Twas I,” said she,
“Who wrote thus clinchingly.
VII
“My lover’s wife—aye, wife!—knew nought
Of what we felt, and bore, and thought . . .
He’d said: ‘I wed with thee or die: She stands between, ’tis true. But why? Do thou agree, And—she shalt cease to be.’
VIII
“How I held back, how love supreme
Involved me madly in his scheme
Why should I say? . . . I wrote assent
(You found it hid) to his intent . . .
She—died . . . But he Came not to wed with me.
IX
“O shrink not, Love!—Had these eyes seen