Thursday, November 22, 2007

In Tenebris by Thomas Hardy





Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
Flower-petals flee;
But since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
Can harrow me.
Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost's black length:
Strength long since fled!
Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends cannot turn cold
This season as of old
For him with none.
Tempests may scath;
But love cannot make smart
Again this year his heart
Who no heart hath.
Black is night's cope;
But death will not appal
One, who past doubtings all,
Waits in unhope.

5 comments:

Plutarch said...

Lovely photo. Lovely but sad poem, Thanks Tristan. Thanks Thomas H.

tristan said...

yes, it is a sad poem ... but his genius always pleases me

Plutarch said...

I have thought for a long time that he is a better poet than a novelist.

Lucy said...

Didn't he think that too?

tristan said...

you're quite right, he did