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.


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