WESSEX POEMS AND
OTHER VERSES

BY
THOMAS HARDY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1919

COPYRIGHT

Wessex Poems: First Edition, Crown 8vo, 1898. New Edition 1903.
First Pocket Edition June 1907. Reprinted January 1909, 1913

“Poems, Past and Present”: First edition 1901 (dated 1902)
Second Edition 1903.  First Pocket Edition June 1907
Reprinted January 1908, 1913, 1918, 1919

Of the assorted collection of poems that follows, only four pieces have been published, even though many were written a long time ago, and others are only partially completed. In a few instances, the poems were converted into prose and published that way, as it wasn't expected at that time that they would ever be released.

Whenever an old and valid word from the region, for which there was no equivalent in standard English, came to mind as the most natural, closest, and often only way to express a thought, it was used for what appeared to be valid reasons.

p. viThe pieces are largely dramatic or character-driven in their ideas; and this holds true even when it’s not immediately evident.

The dates assigned to some of the poems don't correspond to the rough sketches shown, which were created recently. As you might guess, they're included for personal and local reasons instead of their inherent qualities.

T. H.

September 1898.

Alter and the randomness of life in my blooming youth,
Set me day by day close to someone I didn’t choose;
Made us similar, and even with our differences,
Friends connected us.

p. 2“I can cherish him while the real one is on the way—
When the one who fulfills my dreams arrives;
There's still plenty of time in life, and the possibilities are endless.”
So I reflected to myself.

Thwarting my longing path, a young woman strolled,
Beautiful, yet not fully formed to be all-encompassing;
“I'll wait for the right girl,” I thought, “until the
anticipated
Wonder of women appears.”

Long a dreamed-of retreat, filled with desire,
I was eager to stay in these strange places;
“Let this lodging be temporary,” I thought,
“Soon I’ll find something better.”

“Then, I will craft my life's work,
Revealing Truth and Light; but with the right timing ahead,
Taking breaks to focus on what matters is enough.”
So I . . . But wait, look at me!

p. 3Lady, friend, location, seeks to improve right away,
Improvement has not come from Fate or my own efforts;
Only the evidence of my journey on this earth—
   Never surpassed!

I saw her faded colors,
Her narrow perspectives,
And asked, “Can my Amabel still be there?”

I gazed at her dress,
Once pink, now a dull brown;
The transformation felt like the tolling bell
Of Amabel.

p. 5Her step had become robotic
And lost the spirit of May;
Her laugh, once sweet and lively,
   Ruined Amabel.

I wondered, “Who sings the tune
I sang before the warmth faded?
Who thinks its words reveal
His Amabel?”—

Knowing that, even if Love fades,
Love's essence still remains;
Everyone finds, in every village or valley,
   An Amabel.

—I felt like I could sneak up
To some rooftop and cry,
That Time the tyrant fell
   Ruled Amabel!

I said (while I sighed
That love like ours has died),
“Sweet things I won't say anymore
To Amabel,

p. 6“But let her face what comes,
And throw it all away at the gate,
‘Until the final call, goodbye,
   O Amabel!’”

1865.

If a vengeful god were to call to me
From the sky, and laugh: “You poor soul,
Know that your pain is my joy,
That the loss of your love is my gain in hatred!”

Then I would endure, and hold myself together, and die,
Hardened by the feeling of unjust anger;
Partially comforted that a stronger force than I
Had determined and dealt to me the tears I cry.

p. 8But that's not the case. How is it that joy is dead,
And why doesn’t the best hope ever bloom?
—Harsh chance blocks out the sun and rain,
And fickle Time rolls the dice for happiness with a sigh . . .
These blind Fate-bringers could just as easily have scattered
Joy along my journey instead of suffering.

1866.

In my mind, I wandered through the bright sky,
So vibrant and bold that the Night dimmed,
As if it were in awe of such display;
And as I contemplated, my spirit soared on and on

In a footless journey through sky-high peaks,
To the final chambers of the massive Dome,
Where the brightest stars fade into darkness:
Then, any place on our own Earth felt like Home!

p. 10And the painful sadness of you being far away
Turned into a grateful joy that you were close?
Who could have been, placed on some distant path,
Less than a Need to me, as I went through each day
Living oblivious, indifferent to all that was
Trapped in that quiet and gloomy Universe.

1866.

When you walked out, waiting for the baby,
I was filled with dreams of our future children,
Imagined from the two of us just as Love intended;
Unique beings that will never exist now!

Should I also marry under the pressure of fashion's rules,
And each of us lost in our own false wants,
A dull group, who have no ambitious dreams to ignite
As would have sparked between us if we had ever joined;

p. 12And, saddened that such well-suited lives should be mismatched,
Each mourns the lost potential, and has the courage to ask
The Great Lady from where life originates.
Why those noble children never came to be:
What will she say? That she doesn’t care
If the world remains unaware of such remarkable beings.

1866.

Snowed in in the woods, a sad word,
Dropped now and then from a bird's beak,
Carried to me on the breeze; and so I heard,
Tiredly waiting:—

“I planned her a nest in a leafless
tree,
But the people passing by stared and mocked me,
And said: ‘How reckless is that bird,
happily mating!’”

p. 14“Filled with fear, I held on until summer came,
In the shelter of leaves to crown her as my bride;
But unfortunately, her love for me faded away,
Tiring of waiting.

“Ah, if I had been like some I see,
Born to an evergreen nesting tree,
No one would have looked at me and mocked,
   Cheerfully mating!”

1866.

Your troubles don’t disappear, although I feel them less
Here, from a distance, than when I was close;
I even smile old smiles—with a sense of weariness—
Yet they are smiles, not just empty mockeries.

A thought too strange to hold in my head
Haunting the edges of my mind I realize:
—I won't be eager to learn
Your sorrows, and sharing them, only brings me pain . . .

p. 16It moves, like a shadowy bird or pirate
That carves its wild shape on the sea,
And every new feeling seems to push away
The inappropriate urge that took root here;
Yet, old friend, can there be a harsher truth
Than knowing, even if it’s forbidden, that urge was in me!

1866.

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was pale, as if scolded by God,
And a few leaves lay on the dry ground,
—They had fallen from an ash tree and were gray.

Your gaze on me was like eyes wandering
Over boring puzzles figured out long ago;
And some words bounced between us back and forth—
   On which we lost more because of our love.

p. 18The smile on your lips was the most lifeless thing
Alive enough to have the energy to die;
And a bitter grin passed by
Like a foreboding bird in flight . . .

Since then, sharp lessons that love can trick you,
And twists with hurt, have formed for me
Your face, and the cursed sun, and a tree,
   And a pond lined with gray leaves.

1867.

They carry him to his final resting place—
In a slow procession passing by;
I follow from a distance;
They are his family, and I am his lover.
My dress is still bright and colorful,
Even though theirs is dark and sorrowful;
But they stand around with expressionless eyes,
While my regret burns like fire!

187-.

Upon a poet’s page I wrote
Of old two letters of her name;
She seemed a part of the brilliant idea
That inspired that great singer’s joy.
—Now, as I turn the page, the same
Immortal light brightens the verse,
But from the letters of her name
The glow has faded away!

1869.

The two were quiet in a dark church,
Whose damp walls, uneven floor tiles,
And worn carvings escaped scholarly study;
And nothing interrupted the clock’s dull rhythms.

Leaning against a decayed poppy head,
So weak and tired that he could barely stand,
p. 24—For he was about to die,—he softly said,
“Tell me you love me!”—gripping her hand tightly.

She would have given anything to genuinely say "yes,"
His life felt like it was depending on her thoughts,
So she lied, her heart convinced completely
It was worth her soul to be kind for just a moment.

But the sad need for it, his approaching death,
So mocked humanity that she felt ashamed to value
A world like this, or care for life
Where Nature could create such dilemmas.

1866.

Though I waste time trying to find the right words to capture
Some essence to hold close in embrace and kiss,
From the darkness comes a feeling that it’s better
To fail at getting someone you don't truly miss.

To win love, we take the chance of losing it,
And losing love feels like our life is torn apart;
It hurts like insults and cruel treatment
To give up something that was freely given.

p. 28Let me not feel any more the fateful thrill
That tears apart the love-struck suitor’s soul,
The intense chaos of burning desires, the chill
That torments the hopes that take a toll!
May I live without obeying any conditions,
And my heart’s list hold no woman’s name.

1866.

When you see me trapped by Time,
My praised beauty taken from me,
My eyes no longer shining like they used to,
My name forgotten by the Fair and Free Maiden;

When your heart gives in to your mind,
And you barely understand how judgment works,
It remembers the greatness I once held dear,
And you're frustrated that they've faded so:

p. 32Remembering that the fault isn’t mine,
That Time, the relentless hunter, breeds to harm,
Knowing deep in my heart we’re still the same—
One who’d sacrifice to keep you from pain!—
Will you not acknowledge the bond of old love
And offer a hand of friendship down Life’s dark path?

1866.

Maybe, long after I'm gone,
Someone else's looks, voice, or thoughts like mine,
Will remind you of what I used to say,
And bring back some memories of your love fading.

Then you might take a moment to reflect, "Poor thing!"
And let out a sigh for me—as much as you owe,
Not just a small token for an unpaid debt
To someone who could give everything to you—

p. 34So while you’re thinking, you’ll never realize
That your brief idea, wrapped up in just a few words,
Wasn’t just a passing thought to me,
But the Entire Life in which I had my role;
And you, caught up in its unpredictable show
A Thought—just as I appear to be in yours.

1866.

I will be loyal to you; yes, I will!
And Death will look at me in surprise
That he didn't notice and claim me
As his by right ever since that last goodbye!

I don't care about friends, family, or the best
Of manhood who treat me kindly here;
Among the joyful people of my time
Who achieve their love's fulfillment, I seem to show up.

p. 36Feeling unresponsive like a weather vane that’s corroded at its tip,
Loyal to the wind that touched it before it got damaged;
Rejected by the people of today, who want to separate
The mind from memories and make life purely about goals,

My old skills with color are completely gone,
And there's nothing left for Love to admire.

1866.

This love isolates me from everyone;
I can only curse her, wish her dead,
For loving and receiving love from you—
Nourishing a heart that would have fed my own!

How much I love, I can't say, life remains unknown,
Except as a way to add love to my life;
But this I do know, my existence is just yours—
Merged from the separateness by sheer joy.

p. 38And so I understand your vastness, of her
Unseen, though assisted by almost-watching eyes;
Can you truly hate me as one who envies
When I’m unaware of what I hold so dear?
Trust me, Lost One, Love is more beautiful
The more it expresses its pain in a selfish way.

1866.

Below a hill where
   Young birds play,
Inside walls of worn-out stone,
   Far away
From the rows of formal houses,
By the branch where the first bird feeds,
Lives a Sweet: no merchants come,
No one trades, no one sells
   Where she lives.

p. 40On that beautiful fabric
“Here she is!”
Seems to be written everywhere
To me.
But to friends and nodding neighbors,
Fellow beings in our struggles,
Who see things as I do,
No clear message reveals
Where she lives.

Should I return to who I was
Before we met;
(Such a thing can't happen, but since
Some forget
Let me pretend)—no one would notice
That where I know her by heart is
Spreading a strange and withering change,
Like the drying up of the wells
Where she lives.

To think I might have kissed—
   Loved genuinely—
Somewhere else, or I have missed
   My entire life.
p. 41If I had never gotten close to her,
Is a harsh reality—harder
To accept that she is nothing,
Just like me, beyond the valleys
   Where she lives.

And Devotion lowers her gaze
To remember
What servants of Fate
We all are.
I just discovered her in that, wandering
On my aimless path unaware,
I didn’t stray from the place
That no place on earth tops,
—Where she lives!

1870.

When lawyers work to fix a conflict,
And folks actually follow their advice;
Then Little Boney will swoop in,
And lead his troops into London town!
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lorum,
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lay!

When judges have equal justice,
And criminals are only in prison;
p. 44Then Little Boney will swoop down,
And lead his troops into London!
Rollicum-rorum, &c.

When rich people find their wealth to be a burden,
And use it to fill the poor man's pockets;
Then Little Boney will swoop down,
And lead his troops into London town!
Rollicum-rorum, &c.

When husbands and wives are on the same page,
And maids don’t marry out of modesty;
Then Little Boney will swoop in,
And lead his men into London town!
Rollicum-rorum, tol-tol-lorum,
Rollicum-rorum, tol-lol-lay!

1878.

Published in "The Trumpet-Major," 1880.

By Corporal Tullidge: see “The Trumpet-Major”
In Memory of S. C. (Retiree). Passed away 184–

We dug in, we announced and beat the drums,
And from our cannons tons of iron buzzed
   Across the ditch, the month we bombarded
      The town of Valencieën.

p. 46It was in June of '93
(The Duke of York was our commander then)
  The German Legion, Guards, and we
      Laid siege to Valencia.

This was the first time in the war
That French and English spilled each other’s blood;
—Few imagined how far the noise would spread
Started at Valencieën!

It was said that we had no business there
Arguing with the French;
However, that’s not my concern—
We were in Valencia.

Such snocks and slats, since war began
Never knew a rookie or a veteran:
Stone-deaf there went many a man
Who served at Valencia.

p. 47Into the streets, above the sky,
A hundred thousand bullets and bombs flew;
And innocent townspeople fell to die
Every hour in Valencia!

And, sweating with the bombardiers,
A shell was sent to shards near my ears:
   —It was near the end of hopes and fears
      For me at Valencieën!

They carried my wounded body to camp,
And sealed my gaping skull, and cleaned it up,
And joined it with a silver clamp
That night at Valenciennes.

“We’ve brought him back to life quickly;
But never again on earth while the rose is red
   Will the drum awaken Corpel!” the doctor said
      Oh me at Valencien.

p. 48It’s true. No voice of friend or foe
Can reach me now, or any living being;
And I have very little power to know
Since that time in Valencia!

I never hear the summer
hums
of bees; and don’t know when the cuckoo comes;
But night and day I hear the bombs
we dropped on Valencia...

As for the Duke of York in war,
There are some people whose judgment of him is poor;
But this I say—I was not far
From great at Valenciennes.

O’ wild rainy nights,
when everything feels gloomy,
My wounds return, as if I’ve had new wounds;
But sometimes—I'm kind of
glad I fought at Valenciennes.

p. 49Well: Heaven with its beautiful halls
Is now the only place I want to be in . . .
Good Lord, what if Nick should blow up the walls
As we did in Valencia!

1878–1897.

With Thoughts of the Sergeant M— (Retiree), who passed away 185–.

“Why?, Sergeant, are you wandering on the Ivel Way,
As if there are ghosts waiting for you at home?
From start to finish, it’s been a proud journey!
And your bright years with a lovely wife
   Have given you a precious daughter.

p. 52“I saw her today; a prettier girl,
As she danced in her blue-trimmed muslin,
Around a Hintock maypole never looked so cheerful.”
—“Yeah, I saw her today as well,”
said the Sergeant.

“My daughter is now,” he began again,
“Exactly the age of someone I knew
When we of the Line and Forlorn-hope van,
On an August morning—a select few—
Stormed San Sebastian.

“She’s a score less three; so about was she—
The girl I hurt in those Peninsular days . . .
You can brag about your skills in those wild times,
But as the years eat away, you start to see your trophies,
And realize your wrongs!

“We charged in at night, guided by the
Firelight of burning towers and the booming mortar:
We reached the breach, but couldn't hold it,
Because our ranks got lost in the confusing darkness;
And we decided we’d attack during the day."

p. 55“So, out of the trenches, with determined looks,
On that hot, quiet morning, at a steady pace,
Our group climbed; climbed even higher,
Past the false slope, steep bank, up the wall,
And along the walkway.

“From the fortified hornwork, the cannon crew
Hurl crashing balls of iron fire;
Into the trembling gap climb the volunteers
In lines, and as they climb, they expire
Amid curses, groans, and cheers."

“Five hours we charged, five hours re-grouped,
As Death chilled those heated blood pricks;
Until our cause benefited from an inner sorrow:
They shifted from the peak we had jumped upon,
And we rushed in uncontrollably.

“On and on for loot, amid rain and thunder
That erupted with the pause of our cannon fire,
We roamed the streets in the suffocating heat—
Our hunger unquenched, our thirst unrelieved—
And looted the buildings there.

p. 56“Down the rocky steps of the white-fronted houses
We rolled heavy barrels of Spanish wine,
Until finally, with the fire of the wine ignited,
I saw at a doorway a beautiful, fresh figure—
A woman, a spirit, or a fairy.

“Afraid, she ran away, and with my head racing
I chased her to the room she claimed as her own;
—When strength is justified, no doubts hold me back,
And finding her vulnerable and alone
I exercised my will upon her.

“She looked up at me with pleading eyes,
And I heard the prayers she whispered
In her own gentle way . . . Apparently
I mirrored those eyes as my punishment
For bringing the girl you see!”

“So, today I stand with a mark set by God
Like Cain’s, when he wandered from his people . . .
p. 57I served through the war that made Europe free;
I got married in a peaceful year. But, hidden from others,
I carry that mark on me.

“And I wander every night on the Ivel Way
As if there are ghosts everywhere at home;
I’m not happy with my impressive career;
And it feels like burning coals that a loving wife
Should have given me a precious daughter!”

(As sung by Mr.. Charles Charrington in the play of “The Three Wayfarers”)

O my trade is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all—
      My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers, I tie, and lift them up high,
   And send them off to a distant land!

p. 60My tools are just ordinary ones,
            Just simple shepherds—
      My tools aren’t impressive:
A little piece of hemp string, and a post to hang it on,
   Are all the tools I need!

To-morrow is my working day,
         Simple shepherds all—
      To-morrow is a working day for me:
For the farmer’s sheep is slain, and the kid who did it taken,
   And on his soul may God have mercy!

Published in “The Three Strangers,” 1883.

The sun had moved from Grey’s to Dammer’s Crest,
And I was still thinking about that upcoming event:
Finally, I headed towards the High Street to the West.

p. 62The bright light hit the window and the top part
And my damaged face, and revealed my close friend
Like one of those the furnace kept unharmed.

“I have news about her,” he said. “Listen.
They’re flying tonight at the late moon’s first light:
Keep your weapon ready: two precise thrusts will finish it.”

Her bold visions and his passionate dream.
I’ll watch with you, to witness your wrong—
To help, maybe.—The law supports the plan.”

I began, and we walked alongside the flags
Until I said: “Since it’s come to this
I’ll do it! But by myself. I can be
strong.”

Three hours after curfew, when the Froom's mild hiss
was the only sound, undisturbed by the noise of commerce,
from Pummery-Tout to where the gallows are,

p. 63I walked through my garden near Glyd’path Rise,
And stood by the wall. Eleven chimes sounded,
And they arrived at the door, unexpectedly,

And met in a tight grip so close I almost bent
My raised blade upon them to have released
Their two souls into the sky.

But something grabbed my arm. “Just a moment
Before you free spirits fade away!” I said;
And then they noticed me. Her eyes focused quickly.

With eyes full of endless love
Directed at her Heart's king. Never before
Had she given me a look of love so powerful! . . .

At once she threw her delicate body protectively
On his, against the revenge of my vows;
Which, overriding everything, her form protected him.

p. 64Overwhelmed by such love, I stood as if in a daze,
And the slow moon rose from the nearby hills,
My sad thoughts moving like this: “I might settle down

And I might control her, but what am I
But an authorized oppressor to this bound couple?
Says Charity, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." . . .

Hurling my iron into the bushes there,
I told them to stay. And, as if my mind and heart
Were unresponsive, they walked with me to the stairs.

Inside the house, no one was watching; and we moved forward
Before a mirror, in whose shine I saw
Her beauty, his—and my own unworthy face;

p. 65Until I reached her room. "Ma'am," I said,
"Do you have what it takes for this? Please, speak up.
Love doesn't fill a pantry. You’ll need everyday bread."

“We have nothing, my lord,” she said; “and we seek nothing.
It would be disgraceful for me to steal from my lord without him knowing;
Our hands will earn a small amount week by week.”

And then I saw she had stacked her beautiful clothes
Inside the wardrobes, along with her household money,
Her jewels, and the finest lace she wore;

And stood in homemade clothes. Now completely hers,
I gave her the gold, all her jewels,
And him the best of her various robes.

p. 66“I’ll take you to the door in the wall,
And then goodbye,” I told them. “Friends, step back.”
They did, and she went—never to return.

And as I stopped under the arch, I saw
Their moonlit silhouettes—moving slowly, as if surprised—
Come down the hill and disappear into the haw.

“‘Fool,’ some will say,” I thought. “But who is wise,
Except God alone, to judge my reasons why?”
—“Have you hit the mark?” came with the branches’ night-sighs.

It was my friend. "I've done well. They leave,
But they're carrying injuries that can't heal."
—"Not deadly?" he asked. “Just lasting—worse,” I replied.

Scene: The Master Tradesmen's Lounge at the Old Ship Inn, Casterbridge. Evening.

“Old Norbert with the flat blue cap—
A German said to be—
Why let your pipe die on your lap,
Your eyes blink absently?”—

—“Ah! . . . Well, I had thought till my cheek was wet
Of my mother—her voice and demeanor
When she used to sing and dance,
And shake the tambourine

p. 68“To the tune that the street musician plays:
She told me it was the same
She’d heard from the trumpets when the Allies
Took over her city.

“My father was one of the German Hussars,
My mother was from Leipzig; but he,
Long stationed here, brought her home at the end of the wars,
And a Wessex boy raised me.

“And as I grew up, again and again
She’d tell, after singing that tune,
Of her youth, and the battles on Leipzig plain
And of everything that was endured there! . . .

“—It was a time of alarms. Three Chiefs-at-arms
united to defeat One,
And through their numbers' power, for in a fair fight
He was unmatched by anyone.”

p. 69“Carl Schwarzenberg was part of the plan,
   And Blücher, ready and fierce,
And Jean, the Crown Prince Bernadotte:
   Buonaparte was the enemy.

“City and plain had felt his reign
From the North to the Middle Sea,
And he’d now taken a seat in the noble town
Of the King of Saxony.

“October’s thick dew spread its wet gossamer
Over Leipzig’s lawns, covered in leaves,
Where recently every beautiful avenue
Provided shade for the summer afternoon."

“To the west, two slow rivers moved
Through miles of marsh and swamp,
Where a line of whiteness passed over—
The Bridge of Lindenau.

“Nearby, in the City, the One, overwhelmed by worries,
  Gloomed over his diminished power;
And outside the walls, the surrounding crowd
  Grew thicker every hour.

p. 70“That night, he talked about the plans for the next day
With his leaders by the campfire,
While the flames from the enemy's lines
Flickered closer and closer.

“Three skylights then from the surrounding trio
Signaled, ‘Ready!’ As they ascended
Their flashes seemed his Judgment-Sign
For bleeding Europe’s woes.

“On that night, it was noticeable how the French
watch-fires glowed steadily;
And the Three were happy, for they observed in the sight
That the One refused to flee . . .

“—Five hundred guns started the battle
The next morning at nine;
That wild and devastating cannon fire
Had never ripped through human ranks.”

p. 71“Around the town, three battles raged,
Shrinking like a trap;
As closer marched the million feet
Of troops closing in.

“The first battle approached on the low Southern side;
The second by the Western path;
The arrival of the third from the North was heard:
—The French held everyone at bay.

“Against the first group stood the Emperor;
Against the second stood Ney;
Marmont against the third gave the command:
—And so it went on throughout the day.

“Fifty thousand strong souls on those trampled fields and hills,
Who greeted the dawn with hope,
And were assigned their parts in a conflict not their own,
Fell then in their suffering.

p. 72“‘Oh,’ the old folks said, ‘you Preachers who are so serious!
Oh, so-called Christian era!
When will men turn their swords into ploughshares?
When will the promised time arrive?’ . . .

“—The clash of horse and man that started that day,
didn’t end as evening fell;
And the armies of the next day, front and back,
kept gathering more and more."

“From the City, the Confederate Powers
Were watched in shining lines,
And from the vast, a murmuring rose up
Like that of a pine forest.”

“'It's good to hide a weak skill
With numbers!' he scoffed;
'But give me a third of their strength, I'd fill
Half of Hell with their soldiers!'”

p. 75“All day long, the war they fought continued,
   And once more, the silent night took over,
Except for the wide expanse of agony
   That spread out from the dark grave.

“Brave Ney fought hard, along with the true
Bertrand,
Victor, and Augereau,
Bold Poniatowski and Lauriston,
To prevent their defeat;

“But, like in the dream of someone who is gravely ill
There comes a constricting space
That traps him, body and limbs and breath,
To face a terrible fate,

“So to Napoleon, in the silence
That covered the town and towers
Through these terrible nights, a creeping weight
Seemed to come with the hours.

p. 76“One road behind, and only one,
If fickle Fortune permitted;
It was where the Pleiss’ and Elster flow—
The Bridge of Lindenau.

“The nineteenth dawned. Down street and Platz
The wasted French sank back,
Stretching long lines across the Flats
And on the bridge-way track;

“When an earthen wave rolled across the sky,
And stones, and people, as if
Some rebellious graveyard crew lifted up
Their tombs from below.

“To Heaven is blown Bridge Lindenau;
Wrecked regiments stagger away;
And rank and file in masses plow
The gloomy Elster-Strom.

p. 77“Lindenau was a wide divide; and so many lives were lost—
Hundreds, fifties, tens;
And every stream flowed red
With the blood of Marshals and men.

“The clever Macdonald swam in it,
And just barely finished;
Brave Poniatowski pushed him in
Never to come back up.”

“Then the conflict stopped. The remnants hurried
their way towards the Rhine;
And thus did Leipzig City ring
an Empire’s final bell;

“While in procession, with music and weapons,
Came Marshals, Princes, Kings;
And the town belonged to them . . . Yes, as an innocent girl,
My mother witnessed these events!

p. 78“And whenever I hear those street sounds start,
I remember her and that distant scene,
And how she acted out the Allies marching in,
And her shake of the tambourine!”

Good Father! . . . It was a night in mid-June,
And war was raging again
By great Napoleon, who for years had scattered
Men's bones all over Europe.

p. 80Three nights ago, with his army of columns he’d crossed
The Sambre at Charleroi,
To head towards Brussels, where the English troops
Lingered in the park and woods.

The other day we heard the gloomy
Growl of the cannon
Throughout the long sunny day
From Quatre-Bras and Ligny; until the darkening
Twilight put an end to the fighting;

Albeit there—in the way later tongues described—
Brunswick's noble spirit was drained,
And Prussia's Line and Landwehr, though unbroken,
Stood cornered and limited.

And at the next noon, Grouchy slowly passed by
With thirty thousand men:
We hoped from then on no army, big or small,
Would bother us again.

p. 81My cabin was tucked away in a secluded valley,
And no one seemed to be around
When, finally feeling at ease, we went to sleep—
My kids, my wife, and I.

But what was this that disturbed our peace?
What noise, above the rain,
Above the dripping of the poplar trees
That struck against the window?

—A call of mastery, urging me to get up,
Forced me to the door,
At which a rider stood in soldier's gear—
Covered in sweat from every pore.

Had I seen Grouchy? Yes? Which track did he take?
Could I lead there?—
Fulfillment would ensure three gold coins,
Maybe more gifts later.

p. 82“I come with the Emperor’s order,” he said,
   “Instructing the Marshal directly
To attack the two armies in front
   Before they can work together,

“Engaging Blücher until the Emperor put
Lord Wellington to flight,
And then the Prussians. This is my mission tonight.”

I joined him in the fog, but, stopping,    Tried to understand what he meant. Grouchy had gone towards Wavre; and yet, when I thought about it,    I didn't head in that direction.

I thought: “If Grouchy told me to be,
   The conflict is right here;
My farm is stripped. And as for three pieces,
   The French have no money.”

p. 83“Grumpy without warning, moreover, the English win,
And I’m left with nothing—
They buy, not borrow.”—That’s when I started
To lead him astray.

By Joidoigne, to the east, as we withdrew,
   Dawn broke through the humid air;
And I faced east with him, even though I knew
   Grouchy never marched there.

Near Ottignies, we crossed the Dyle
(Lim’lette left far behind),
And then straight towards Pervez and Noville
Through lush grain, until he shouted:

“I doubt your behavior, man! there’s no trace here—
   I doubt your forced promise!”
At that, he glared at me and moved closer,
   And poked me with his sword.

p. 84“No, Captain, wait! We’re avoiding, not following the path
Of Grouchy,” I said at that moment:
“As we move, he went over there, with his army
Of thirty thousand troops.”

—Finally, noon approached; when from the west, from Saint-John’s Mound,
A rough cannon fired,
And from Saint-Lambert’s hill, topped with a chapel,
The Prussian troops appeared.

Then to the endless wet gray ground he leapt;
“My mission is over!” he cried;
“It's too late for Grouchy to stop it now,
For, peasant, you have lied!”

He turned to shoot me. I jumped and drew
The sword from his side,
And between his neck and shoulder, before he realized,
I struck, and he sank dead.

p. 87I buried him deep in waving rye and oats—
His green stalks and soil were his shroud;
His funeral song the rough sound of the corn blades—
And then I hurried home, . . .

—Two armies twist and turn in shades of red and blue,
And brass and iron clash
From Goumont, past the front of Waterloo,
To Pap’lotte and Smohain.

The Imperial Guard hesitated on the hill;
The Emperor's expression turned sour;
"I sent word to Grouchy last night,
And he still hasn't arrived!"

It was then, Good Father, that the French spotted,
streaking across the summer land,
the men of Blücher. But the Emperor shouted,
“Grouchy is now here!”

p. 88And meanwhile Vand’leur, Vivian, Maitland, Kempt,
Met d’Erlon, Friant, Ney;
But Grouchy—misdirected, criticized, yet without blame—
Grouchy was far away.

By evening, slain or struck, Michel the strong,
Bold Travers, Dnop, Delord,
Smart Guyot, Reil-le, l’Heriter, Friant,
Scattered that field all over.

Fallen also wronged Duhesme, and skilled Lobau
Did that red sunset witness;
Colbert, Legros, Blancard! . . . And of the enemy
Picton and Ponsonby;

With Gordon, Canning, Blackman, Ompteda,
   L’Estrange, Delancey, Packe,
Grose, D’Oyly, Stables, Morice, Howard, Hay,
   Von Schwerin, Watzdorf, Boek,

p. 89Smith, Phelips, Fuller, Lind, and Battersby,
And many ranks of soldiers gathered around . . .
Memorials still remain to tell you
About those who fell!

The Guards’ last column gave way; walls of dead
Lay between valley and ridge,
As, thinned yet closing, weak yet intense, they rushed
In groups to Genappe Bridge.

Safe was my livestock; my cattle unharmed;
      Intact each rooster and hen;
But Grouchy lay far at Wavre all day,
   And thirty thousand men.

O Saints, if only I had lost my precious corn
And saved the cause I once valued!
O Saints, why did I bear such false witness
When I had recently shown compassion! . . .

p. 90So now that I'm old, my children look at me suspiciously
My slowly diminishing resources,
And want my little bit; until, tired of waiting,
I no longer care for life.

To Almighty God, from now on I stand admitted,
   And Virgin Saint Mary;
O Michael, John, and Holy Ones in peace,
   Pray to the Lord for me!

Check out “The Trumpet-Major”

In Memory of one of the Writer’s Family who was a
Volunteer During the War with Napoleon

In a leafy side road
      Close to the main South-Wessex Highway,
   A house sent up its breakfast smoke;
The dew was still lying untouched, because the sun hadn’t cleared the sky yet,
      And twilight covered the field.

p. 92It was hard to understand on
      This cozy side of the silent horizon
   That beyond it, enemy forces might be moving,
Except for seeing a beautiful woman in the doorway, crying as she looked at
      A soldier in uniform.

In a rush
      He’d flown there
      To his beautiful wife all alone there,
   While marching south nearby, to calm her fears,
Because she would soon be a mother, and there weren’t many messengers
      In these years of campaigning.

It was time to say goodbye,
      Since the assembly hour was approaching
   In royal George's town at six that morning;
And between its docks and this retreat were ten good miles of rushing
   Before the sound of the bugle horn.

p. 93“I’ve stocked up on food, my dear,
      And opened the spiced drink,
   And if our hopes for July come early,
Let the servant ride swiftly along the path and through the woods,
      And get help right away.

“As for Buonaparte, forget him;
      He’s unlikely to land! But let him,
   Those who fight for their wives and children hit their targets!
And the warships made to carry him; they just need
      A shot from Nelson’s guns!”

“But, to assure you,
And to heal your creeping fears,
If he happens to be rumored anchoring in the Road,
Drive with the nurse to Kingsbere; and let nothing there attract you
Until we’ve got him safely taken care of.

p. 94“Now, let's talk about the marching stuff:
      I have my backpack, rifle,
   ammunition, belts, powder horn, stock, bayonet,
black ball, clay,
Pouch, magazine, flints, flint box that clatters with every quick step;
   . . . My heart, dear; that has to stay!”

—With
broken breath,
      a silent farewell was exchanged,
   And they parted as morning touched the windows;
And the Volunteer continued on, turning and twisting his glove as a sign,
   And took the paths toward the coast.

When he was above the hills, he found him. He looked around and saw the Barrow-Beacon burning—burning low, As if it had been lit ever since he started his journey home; And it meant: Expect the enemy!

p. 97Leaving the side road,
      and quickly taking the main road,
   he met cars and chariots speeding inland;
“He's anchored, Soldier!” some shouted:
“God save you, as you march along,
   you'll face him on the shore!”

He slowed; he stopped; he hesitated
Awhile with himself, and stumbled,
“Why wander towards trouble on the shore?
To Molly, definitely! Let’s head to the woods with her until things change;
Kindness prefers home.

“Else, my denial       He would come she’ll read as lying—    Think the Barrow-Beacon must have met my eyes— That my words were not ignorance, but deceit toward her, while trying       To risk my life."

p. 98“At home, we have supplies,
      And tonight, without raising any suspicion,
   We could take it with us to a hidden spot;
Such a sin, to protect a wife expected to give birth, would earn Christ's forgiveness,
   Even if no one here forgives it!”

While he was thinking,
      A little bird, quickly drinking
   Among the crowfoot tufts the river carried,
Got tangled in their stringy arms, and fluttered, almost
   Sinking,
   Near him, on the moor.

He stepped in, reached for it, and grabbed it,
And, after fixing his appearance, let it go
But then a thought from the scriptures came to mind,
And Divine Signs before the fight, until it felt like Heaven had
Chosen it as a guide to send the bird.

p. 99“O Lord, guide me! . . .
      Is Duty now expecting me
   To march along the coast, or protect my loved ones nearby?
Give this bird a flight so that I may know to choose
   The south or the back.”

He opened his grip; when, rising,
      The bird—seemingly knowing—
   Flew straight south, passing over the Froom,
And Durnover Great-Field and Fort, the soldier clearly
      Informed—he knew by Whom.

Then he panted
By grim Mai-Don, and slanted
Up the steep Ridge-way, listening in between;
Till, getting closer to the coast and harbor, he saw the shoreline
Filled with Foot and Horse for miles.

p. 100Mistrusting not the omen,
      He reached the beach, where Yeomen,
   Militia, Fencibles, and brave Pikemen,
Along with thousands of Regulars, were gathered to confront the enemies,
   Whose fleet hadn’t yet come close to shore.

Captain and Colonel,
      Sere Generals, Ensigns young,
   Were there; of nearby locals, Michel, Smith,
Meggs, Bingham, Gambier, Cunningham, awakened by the colored nighttime
   Attack on their land and kin.

But
Buonaparte still delayed;
His plan had failed;
At the last moment, ready for victory,
The fleet had stopped; his clever strategies had been blocked
By British tactics.

p. 101On the way home
Soon, with no signals shining,
No alerts, the Volunteer, in quiet joy,
Sang a hymn with his wife and friends: “We praise You, Lord, knowing
That You have aided us in this!”

It was a deathbed summons, and out I went
By the way of the Western Wall, so bleak
On that winter night, and looked for a gate—
The home, by Fate,
Of someone I had long cherished.

And there, as I stopped by her apartment,
And the trees dropped their frost and snow on me,
I thought of the guy who left her alone—
      Him who made her his own
   When I loved her, long ago.

p. 104The rooms inside had a sad glow
That home things have when something’s wrong;
From the staircase came the sound
      Of a baby’s cry,
   Whose arrival had led her to this.

Her life was the cost she would pay for that complaint—
For a child with the man she didn't love.
“But let that be the end of it,” I said,
And made my way
To the room upstairs.

She took my hand in her thin, pale one,
And smiled her thanks—though it was almost too weak—
And gestured for them to leave us there
      Then hesitated, before
   She could gather the courage to speak.

“It's to see you before I go—he'll understand
Such a natural thing now that my time's running out—
p. 105When Death is so close it pushes away
      All passionate sense
   Between a woman and a man like that!

“My husband is gone. As before, The City keeps him. But, honestly, He hasn’t been kind . . . I won’t point fingers, But—the child is disabled; Oh, I hope she can appeal to his compassion!

“Forgive the days gone by—I can say no more—
Maybe if we had married, you’d be regretting it now! . . .
But I treated you badly. I was punished. Goodbye!
—Should I speak the truth?
I wish that the child were yours and mine!

“As a wife, I was faithful. But I felt so uneasy
That if I could go back in time and change things,
I’d give her to you, to ensure you take care of her;
      And I’d deal with the gossip,
   And the consequences for such a choice!”

p. 106—After I left, and the rustling trees
Chimed above me, praising her honest words,
I was a different person. Her words were everything:
      Whether easy or challenging,
   I felt ready to face my day.

Next night she died; and her funeral
In the Field of Tombs, by the famous Via,
Got her husband’s attention. After he was done taking care of things,
      I often went
   And thought about her grave.

All that year and the next year passed by,
And I continued to head that way in the twilight;
But the Town forgot her and her spot,
      And her husband brought
   Another Love into his home.

And the rumor spread that the disabled only child
Whom she wished for its safety, my child,
p. 109Was
treated poorly when the new baby's arrival came
      From the newly made mother,
   And showed a stronger lineage.

A deeper grief inside me grew
Than even when I lost someone so dear;
The life whose spirit filled my own,
      Her child mistreated,
   I powerless to step in!

One evening as I stood in my thinking place
In the white-stoned garden, reflecting on her wrong,
Her husband approached; and to avoid his sight
      By her sacred area
   I walked away from the graves among

To the Circus of the Gladiators that faced—
That worn-out symbol of Imperial Rome,
Whose Pagan echoes mock the sound
Of our Christian era:
It was empty, and I climbed up inside.

p. 110Just as night was about to take over, the sun’s golden light faded away
From the wide sky and the nearby lifeless
When her husband came after her; he was stooped, moving slowly,
      With his lips raised;
   Then, stopping, he said gloomily:

“It’s been said that you visit my first wife’s grave.
I gave her a respected name to carry
While she was alive and now that she's gone. So I have the right to ask
      What gives you the right
   To test my patience by standing watch there?

“There's some dignity even in death, I suppose;
Hold on to it, sir, and stay away;
Because you’re showing too much interest in the mother of my first child!
—Sir, I have nothing else to say.”

A desperate move occurred to me then—
God forgive—or don't forgive—the lie;
p. 111She had sighed that she wished (in case the child felt neglected
      from being overlooked) it were mine,
   So I said: “But I am the father.

“That you thought it was yours is typical of men;
But I won her promise long before your time:
Did you find out how, in dying, she called for me?
      It was out of loyalty.
   —Sir, I have nothing more to add,

“Other than that, if you’ll give me my little maid,
I’ll take her, raise her, and save you the trouble.
Consider it more than just a friendly gesture; no one can;
      I’m a lonely man,
   While you’ve a lot on your plate.”

“If not, and you’ll put it to ball or blade—
Tonight, tomorrow night, anytime—
I’ll meet you here . . . But think about it,
      And when the time is right
   Let me hear from you again.”

p. 112—Well, I left, feeling hopeful; but I never heard
About what happened to the child, until a little voice
One day came
      To my window
   And spoke sweetly:

“My father, who isn’t really my father, sends word
I’m to stay here, sir, where I belong!”
Then a message came: “Since the child was the result
      Of your reckless affair,
   Please take her, to correct a wrong.”

And I did. And I gave the child my love,
And the child loved me, and didn’t drive us apart.
But guilt came up; because I’d hurt the dead
By what I’d said
For the benefit of the living one.

p. 113—Yet, God knows, I’m sinful enough,
And unworthy of the woman who loves me so,
Maybe this wrong, for her beloved’s sake,
      She forgives, or would,
   If only she could know!

To Jenny came a gentle youth
From lonely fields inland,
His love was as fresh as apple blossom
By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone.
And he earnestly asked her
To be his devoted partner,
And always call him hers.

Fair Jenny’s life had barely been
A life of modesty;
At Casterbridge, she had vivid
Experiences of many loves,
p. 116From scarcely sixteen years on;
Among them were various soldiers from
The King’s Own Cavalry.

But each with charger, sword, and gun,
Had faced the Biscay wave;
And Jenny valued her gentle one
For all the love he gave.
She promised to be, if they were wed,
His faithful wife in heart and mind
From the wedding hour to the grave.

Wedded they were. Her husband's trust
In Jenny knew no bounds,
And Jenny kept herself pure and just,
Until even malice found
No sin or sign of wrong to be
In one who walked so decently
The dutiful helpmate's role.

Two sons were born and grew into men,
And wandered off, as if they weren't there:
Jenny was left alone again
As her mind had wished for
p. 117A comfort in home life,
And before the two boys who had disappeared
Were there to brighten her home.

She was almost sixty years old,
And appeared elderly,
When one day in the street, filled with fear,
She discovered,
From the glint of swords and the beat of drums.
Her early loves had come from war,
The King’s Own Cavalry.

She looked away and bowed her head
Near Saint Peter’s door;
“Oh, how I long for my calm thoughts!” she said;
“I’m worn out now and old,
And yet those sounds still excite me,
And those lively figures inspire me again
Just like in the years gone by!” . . .

It was Christmas, and the Phœnix Inn
Was lit with tall candles,
For thirty of the trooper men
Had promised to throw a ball
p. 118As “Theirs” had done (it had been passed down)
When staying in the same town
Before Bonaparte’s fall.

That night the pulsing “Soldier’s Joy,”
   The steady pace and sway
Of “Fancy-Lad” and “Maiden Coy,”
   Reached Jenny as she lay
Beside her partner; until the springtime warmth
Felt like it was rushing through her like a wave
   That swept the years away.

She got up, styled her hair,
Where her light-colored hair was sparse;
She quickly pinned two red bows
On her cap with little care;
Quietly heading down to the street,
She walked along to a beat,
And arrived in front of the Inn.

Save for the dancers’, not a sound
Disturbed the icy air;
No watchman on his midnight round
Or traveler was there;
p. 119But over All-Saints’, high and bright,
Pulsed to the music Sirius white,
The Wain by Bullstake Square.

She knocked but was stopped in her tracks
By a tall sergeant:
“Hey, Grandma, where do you think you’re going?” he yelled;
“This is a private party.”
—“No one has more right to be here than I do!
Long before you were born, sir,” she replied,
“I knew the entire regiment!”

“Don’t take the lady’s visit the wrong way!”
Said the steward confidently;
“We still need enough partners,
So, please let her stay!”
They grabbed her and spun her around in the crowd,
And Jenny felt like she did in the days
Of her lack of modesty.

Hour chased each hour, and night moved forward;
She flew as if on wings;
Every time, she danced—
Reels, jigs, poussettes, and flings:
p. 120They cheered her as she soared and swooped,
(She’d learned before the art of dancing faded
From hops to lazy swings).

The favorite quickstep “Speed the Plough”—
   (Cross hands, cast off, and wheel)—
“The Triumph,” “Sylph,” “The Row-dow-dow,”
   Famous “Major Malley’s Reel,”
“The Duke of York’s,” “The Fairy Dance,”
“The Bridge of Lodi” (brought from France),
   She beat out, toe and heel.

The “Fall of Paris” rang its end,
And Peter’s chime struck four,
When Jenny, beating her chest, got up
To find her quiet door.
They walked quietly, guiding her,
So that the sound of a heel or clink of a spur
Wouldn’t interrupt her partner’s snore.

p. 121The fire that had burned before faded away
When she finally stood alone;
Her fifty-nine years flooded back;
She sank to her knees
Beside the hearth, and like a dart
Something shot through her heart
In waves of pain.

Their footsteps faded as she leaned there,
Lit by the morning star
Hanging above the moorland, where
The old elm trees are;
And, as overnight, from Pummery Ridge
To Maembury Ring and Standfast Bridge
No life stirred, near or far.

Though inner mischief was strong,
She reached her husband’s side;
Where, tired from work, he lay
Beneath the patchwork quilt
When last night she had crept out,
And still unaware, he slept
Trusting in her.

p. 122A tear fell as she turned and looked at
his innocent face;
She kissed him deeply, just like when, fresh from the courtship,
she chose his home.
She felt she would have given her life
to be the devoted wife
that she had once been.

Time passed to six. Her husband stood up
And struck the steel and stone;
He looked at Jenny, whose stillness
Seemed deeper than his own.
With silent shock, as he looked closer,
He realized that in the night,
Or morning, her soul had left.

When he was told that some overwhelming pressure
For someone so aged
Had broken her heart’s main vein,
His doubts stayed unchanged.
His Jenny had not left him
Between the evening and the morning:
—The King didn’t say a word.

p. 123Well! times are not what they used to be,
Nor are the good ones as carefree;
And honestly, they were soldiers,
The King’s Own Cavalry.
And when they left Casterbridge
And disappeared over Mellstock Ridge,
It was the saddest morning to witness.

A Tradition of J. B. L—, T. G. B—, AND J. L—.

Three captains went to fight in Indian wars,
And only one came back:
Their old buddy, he alone wore
The honors they all earned.

p. 126At home, he looked for the old hallway
Where, unnoticed by world fame,
The three had sat as students,
And each had carved his name.

The names, rugged and the same size,
Stood on the panel unmoving;
Unequal since.—“It was their goal to aim,
Mine was to achieve it!”

—“Whoever saves their life will lose it, friends!”
The preacher said then,
Unaware of his listener, who
Looked at the names again.

That he came and they stayed,
It was just the luck of war:
Another chance, and they would have sat here,
And he would have lain far away.

p. 127Yet he saw something in the lives
Of those who had stopped living
That surrounded them with a greatness
Which life itself couldn’t provide.

Transcendent victory in return
No longer inspired his mind;
Transcendence shone on the distant urn
Where the fallen two lay entwined.

I mark the months in deliveries damp and dry,
The noons varying in shape and color;
I see the nightfall shadows creep in,
And hear the endless hours clang carelessly by.

I watch the evening bonfires of the sun
On hills where morning rains have sizzled;
The faceless form of the mist
Pale and rising when the summer dry spells are over.

p. 130I have witnessed the lightning strike, the shooting star,
The turbulent waves of the sea,
Have experienced the earthquake’s powerful shake,
And walked in places where deep fires and icebergs exist.

I learn to predict the hidden eclipse,
The arrival of unusual celestial bodies;
To measure the dust that the sky takes in,
To calculate the sun’s position, and determine the time each planet sets.

I see my fellow humans rising and pushing forward;
Gatherings come together, pulse, and then separate;
Death’s calming touch, the pain of grief;
—All the many struggles that signify a vibrant world.

But I really want to know what avoids my understanding—
   Those visions that old prophets speak of,
   Those signs that everyone knows so well,
Granted to their ignorance, denied my long wait.

p. 131In a graveyard green, behind his monument
To catch a glimpse of a ghostly parent, friend,
Wearing his smile, saying “Not the end!”
Breathing out softly: that would be blessed insight;

Or, if the lips of a dead Love, revealed in dreams
   When the midnight imps of King Decay
   Sneak around to turn me back to clay,
Should leave some mark to show her spirit kisses were real;

Or, when Earth’s fragile body is bleeding from its strength,
If some chronicler, like in writing,
Should hover near the tired scene
And drop one feather as a sign that Heaven records the injustice.

—There are those who, lifted to heights of transcendent trust,
These signs claim to feel and see,
Read bright hints of what’s to come—
Of hearts reconnecting after dust to dust.

p. 132Such opportunities are not given to lives like mine . . .
I have rested in the beds of the deceased, have wandered
Among the graves of those I once spoke with,
Summoned many a departed and noble soul to reveal a sign,

And panted for an answer. But none replies;
No warnings appear, nor whispers
To reveal my limitations,
And ignorance silently reflects: When a person falls, they lie.

“Living?”—And I jumped in my amazement,
Was overwhelmed with joy,
And the grass and trees sparkled in outfits
Of glory to me.

“She lives in abundant happiness,
Today just like before;
The dead had the name—though it was uncommon—
The name she carried.”

p. 134She lived . . . I, far away in the city
Of chaos-driven groups,
Had wasted my youthful years and grown-up
By submitting to others

To Baal's deceptive and misleading,
Until fate had spoken to me there
That the one I loved foolishly as a child
Was no longer alive.

The energy the planets had looked down on,
   And change had allowed to fade,
Her death rumor was skillfully revived
   To its full height.

I got on a horse at dawn
   With painful memories,
And headed for the old West Highway
   To distant Exonb’ry.

Passing through heaths and the House of Long Sieging,
I got closer to the slim steeple
p. 135that rises above the beautiful church of Poore’s ancient
Episcopal see;

And, changing my burden again,
I traveled across the countryside
Where the bleak burial mounds of leaders
Rise bare of trees;

And still, sadly, I continued on
That highway called the Icen,
Which stretches its pale ribbon through Wessex
Over hill and meadow.

Along through the Forum by the Stour,
Where Legions had traveled,
And where the slow river reflects
Its green canopy,

And by Weatherbury Castle, and then
Through Casterbridge I went
On and on, to bury her my vision
Saw laid out pale.

p. 136No highway robber's ride disturbed the night air
For me so tired of life,
But only the creak of the gallows
Or the noise of the wagon drivers.

Triple-ramparted Maidon loomed grayly
Above me from the south,
And to the north, the hill-fortress of Eggar,
And square Pummerie.

The Nine-Pillared Cromlech, the Bride-streams,
The Axe, and the Otter
I passed, to the gate of the city
Where Exe scents the sea;

Till, exhausted, in the graveyard pausing,
I realized it wasn’t my Love
to whom Mother Church had just whispered
a final lullaby.

—“So, where does the Canon’s relative live,
My friend from before?”—
p. 137(It was tough to hold back my emotions
And the fresh excitement.)

“She got married.” — “Oh!” — “Married beneath her—
She runs the stage inn
Ten miles away, next to the main Highway—
The famous Lions-Three.

“Her spouse was her servant—no choice
Between marriage and worse things;
A painfully sad situation for a woman
Of her background!”

I shuddered, said nothing, and wandered
To shades of green laurel:
Too frightening had grown those first news
So bright of joy!

For, on my way here, I stopped
For a moment at the Lions,
And her—her whose name had once unlocked
My heart like a key—

p. 138I had watched, unaware, and seen
Her jokes with the bartenders,
Her drink-flushed face, her strong accents
As she said what she wanted to be paid.

“O God, why this apparent mockery?”
I cried in my pain:
“O once Loved, O beautiful Unforgotten—
That Thing—was it about you!

“Inurned and at peace, lost but sainted,
Were grief I could understand;
Depraved—it's a cruel decree for Christ’s poor dependents
!”

I turned back onto the highway, but didn't stop at
the inn. Inside there
Was too much mockery in Love's retelling
To match Time's response!

Uptracking where Legions had traveled,
By unmarked stone circles,
And terraces, and buried Chieftains,
In self-discussion,

p. 139A feeling rose within me and grew
That she wasn't my Love,
But the one from the garden, who lay absorbed in
Her deep thoughts.

And ever since then, I believe
That this was the real thing;
That Death took away her youth
And innocence completely.

Foolish and deceived, they call me;
I might be. It’s better
To dream than to face the degradation
Of sweet Cicely.

Moreover, I find it inappropriate
To believe that kind Heaven
Could create such a scheme—for her destruction
And my suffering.

So, to avoid disrupting my chosen vision,
I steer clear of the West Highway,
Even now, when the sounds ring with rhythms
From blackbird and bee;

p. 140And feel that in a half-awake state
She lies in the church hay,
Her spirit untouched, just like in our youth
When we were lovers.

One afternoon I walked through
   A field, mile by mile,
To the spot where I last saw
   My late Love’s bright smile.

And feeling sad, I lay down
On the warm earth:
It felt like my body pressed
The very ground she walked on.

p. 144I lay there, deep in thought; and in a daze
She appeared and stood beside me—
The same, even down to the amazing spark
That used to shine in her eye.

“You pull me in, and I come to you,
My loyal one,” she said,
In a voice that had an emotional depth
It held before breath was lost.

She said: “It’s been seven years since I died:
Few people remember me now;
My husband holds another bride;
My children’s love belongs to her.

“My brothers, sisters, and friends
Don't worry about meeting my spirit:
Who valued me the most, I didn't realize
Until I disappeared from view.”

I said: “My days are lonely here;
I need your smile always:
I’ll spend this night with my ball or sword,
And join you before the day.”

p. 145A tremor stirred her gentle lips,
Which parted to argue:
“That can't be, oh friend,” she exclaimed;
“Think, I’m just a Shade!

“A Shade but in its mindful ones
Has immortality;
By living, me you keep alive,
By dying you slay me.

“In you lies my only strength
   To keep this sweetness alive here;
I rely on your loyalty
   For many years to come.”

—I felt her suffering deeply,
   So suddenly I admitted:
Letting go of my late dislike for life,
   I longed for its harsh chaos.

“I will not die, my One and Only!—
To extend your days
I’ll protect myself from the smallest dangers
That might come my way!”

p. 146She smiled and left. Since then, she comes
Often when her birth month rises,
Or at the changing of the seasons
Or on anniversaries;

But my grief keeps growing. When I stop,
The one through whom she lives,
My love ends, her words, her ways,
Never to be again!

I desired to love a full-boughed beech
And be as tall as he:
I stretched an arm within his reach,
And signaled unity.
But with his drip he forced a breach,
And tried to poison me.

I let go of my partnership
   To someone of a different race—
p. 148A plane: he tore him apart piece by piece
   From the top branches to the trunk;
And I, too; because I lost my hold,
   My arms couldn’t wrap around.

In fresh love, I then tried
To catch an ash I spotted,
And he trustingly accepted my affection;
Until with my gentle green claw
I squeezed and tied him up as I wove . . .
Such was my love: ha-ha!

By this, I got his strength and height
Without his competition.
But in my victory, I lost sight
Of what might happen next. Soon he,
Being held back, flagged, snapped, fell completely,
And in his fall, he took me down too!

As evening settled in, I found myself on a moor
That was hard to look at:
The dark, barren land, with no distinct shape,
Was like a place in suffering.

“This scene, like my own life,” I said, “is one
Where many shadows linger;
Shaded by its fate to a lifeless gray—
Dark all around.

p. 150I looked up and stopped, filled with joy
To see the difference there:
The sunlit clouds shone with glory; and I thought,
“There’s comfort everywhere!”

Then harsh self-blame as I stood
I gave myself quietly
Like someone stubborn—twisting Good
In clumsy rebellion.

Against the horizon's faintly seen wheel
A shape emerged, oddly formed:
That he was ugly, desperate, I could sense
More than I could see.

“It's a dead zone, where even the light is all used up
To darkness!” croaked the Thing.
“Not if you look up!” I said, focused
On my new reasoning.

p. 151“Yeah—but wait a bit!” he shouted. “Hey!—
Look up and see!”
I looked. Up there, night was also present: Heaven’s bright
display had disappeared. Then he chuckled.

When, soul in soul reflected,
We breathed an ethereal air,
   When we ignored
   Everything else,
And left the friendly friendless
To keep our love alive,
   We thought it was endless . . .
   —We didn’t know!

When, pushed by wild desire,
We planned to escape,
   p. 154But, unexpectedly,
   The gray storm
Hit us so hard
That no one could move forward,
   Our lives felt ruined . . .
   —We didn’t know!

When I found you, helpless and lying,
And you waved away my deep misunderstanding,
   And promised me, dying,
   In a ghostly way
To come to me when I was grieving,
And ease my pain,
   We kissed, believing . . .
   —We had no idea!

But even though your powers are beyond measure,
You seem lifeless and silent,
Or you ignore my call,
And won’t come;
And I say, “It would be awkward
To keep her memory like this:”
I say it in vain—
I feel it and I know!

William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow who was plowing,
Robert’s relatives, John’s, and Ned’s,
And the Squire, and Lady Susan, are now resting in Mellstock churchyard!

“Gone,” I call them, gone for good, that group of local hearts and minds;
Yet at moth-filled curfew time,
And at midnight when the midday heat breathes it back from walls and streets,

p. 156They have a way of whispering to me—fellow beings who still exist—
In the soft, steady tone
Of a ripple beneath archways, or the quiet drip from a lone cave:

“We have won: this achievement
turns the curse into a cure,
Unsuccessful outcomes into successes,
—Many sleepless nights and anxious days into a tomorrow without worry.

“No more do we need grain and clothing, feel the burden of earthly stress;
   Cold criticism stirs no sigh;
Fear of death has even left us: death gave all that we have.”

W. D.—“You can burn the old bass violin that I value so much.”
   Squire.—“You may own the house,
You may marry my wife, my children may forget me.”

p. 157Lady.—“You can have my expensive fabrics, my laces; take all the keys to my home;
Search through my chest, desk, and drawers;
Check the few modest treasures hidden there, and read the letters I've saved.”

Far.—“You can kill my favorite heifer, you can let the charlock grow,
spoil the gardens, give up thrift.”
Wife.—“If you break my best blue china,
kids, I won’t care at all.”

All. —“We don’t want to hear the news about how people’s lives change;
   What you do every day;
Who is getting married, having kids, or separating; whether your lives are moving slowly or quickly.

"Are we not at all curious if you shape our intentions,
If you sing along to our old song,
If the city's stage still goes on, if the weirs still roar
from a distance?"

p. 158—So, with the calm of true gods, they released those burdens, early and late
Which, in life, the Three permit
(Why, no one knows), while ignoring everything that happens under the moon,

William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough,
Robert’s relatives, and John’s, and Ned’s,
And the Squire, and Lady Susan, quietly chat with me now.

Show you as I thought you
   When I first looked for you,
   Omen-seeking,
   All certain
Love alone had created you—

p. 160Created you for my enjoyment,
Designed you as a way
   To express
   And reflect
The joyful things that people value.

O for just a moment
Of that old gift—
Light to brightly
See your daily
Iris-colored blessing!

But such re-decorating
Time refuses with disdain—
   Makes me realize things
   Stop being things
They were in my morning.

Faded, you who are left in the dark,
Overcome by shadows!
Your initial sweetness,
Brightness, harmony,
No one will bring back to life.

__[A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__p. 161Why not forever
You and I? Our youthful
Radiance maintaining,
Time escaping;
Surpassing the daily!

Not a line of her writing do I have,
Not a strand of her hair,
No evidence of her past as a lady in her home, so that
I can imagine her there;
And in vain do I try to picture in my mind
my lost treasure
At her end, whom I knew when her dreams were overflowing with
light,
And her eyes sparkled with laughter.

p. 164What moments surrounded her final days,
         Sad, bright, or gloomy?
Did her kindness and love shield and elevate her gentle spirit
      With a golden glow?
   Or did the light of life fade from her years,
      And misfortunes dictate
Her shining star; anxiety, regret, or worries
      Undermine her soul?

Thus I do but the ghost hold on to
         Of the girl from the past
As my keepsake; yet perhaps the best of her—refined in my mind
      It might be even more
   That I have no letter from her,
      Nor a strand of her hair,
No sign of her later life as a lady in her home, so that
      I can envision her there.

March 1890.

We went past where flags and flowers
signaled a cheerful crowd;
we said: “Come on, the moment
is right!”—and joined the song;
And, lighting up, we laughed at life and worries,
even though we knew there was no real joy in it.

We walked where timid birds stood
Watching us, speechless with awe;
p. 168Their friendliness matched our vibe;
We cried: “We’ll come by often:
We’ll come in the morning, afternoon, evening, all the time!”
—We weren't sure we would return again.

We were thrilled to see unusual glimmers
Jumping from unique leaves in the shade;
A hidden light of greens
They had created for their enjoyment.
We said: “Let’s capture these kinds of moments!”
—We knew the desire would end with the night.

“So sweet the place,” we said,
“Its unspoken stories so precious,
Our thoughts, when breath has left us,
Will come together and blend here!” . . .
“Words!” we pondered. “Once we’ve crossed the mortal threshold,
Our thoughts won’t reach this corner again.”

Pasty beech and pine-tree blue,
Set in one clay,
Bough to bough can't you
Endure your day?
When the rains skim and skip,
Why ruin sweet friendship,
Poisoning with your drip
Neighborly spray?

Heart-stopped and spirit-weary,
City oppressed,
p. 170To this wood I came
Like a nest;
Hoping that the peaceful woods
Would provide the comfort I needed—
Nature a gentle escape
From human turmoil.

But, once you step in,
   Big things and small
Show them to people just like us—
   Fighters all!
Sycamore supports the oak,
Binds the slender sapling tight,
Ivy-woven restraints suffocate
   Elms strong and tall.

Touches from ash, O witch,
Sting you like contempt!
You, too, bold hollies, flinch
Away from the thorn.
Even the rough poplars feel
A rival’s presence,
Crippling in dark despair
If overwhelmed.

p. 171Since I haven’t discovered any grace,
That taught me about trees,
I turn back to my own kind,
Just as worthy as these.
There at least, smiles are everywhere,
There, conversations flow freely,
There, now and then, you’ll find
Commitments to life.

1887: 1896.

Now that my page closes, doomed, maybe,
Never to rest on your comfy cushions again,
Or hear your enthusiastic approvals like before,
Or feel your gentle promises of faith in me:

Knowing your natural openness,
I think that, just like torches chase away night,
My dark image, twisted by hidden forces
Of those who are less straightforward, must fade away in you.

p. 174Fine, that's how it is. I've dealt with it. Let your
Dreams of me and mine fade away each day,
And make room for brighter, more confident things;
Until I appear to you only in brief flashes,
And then in distant and weak moments,
And then stop altogether. Truth will always be truth.

Ah, child, you’re only half of your beloved mother;
If you could be completely her,
My light in you would shine brighter than in anyone else;
She would come back to me.
But greedy Nature’s trick of birth
Prevents it, so she doesn’t overwhelm with joy,
The revival of the loved ones on earth
Can only happen with some pain.

p. 176The lady pays no attention, unfortunately, my dear,
   To love and grief like mine—
No understanding with a mind full of memories;
   Only with changeable eyes.
To her mechanical art
   My dreams are all a mystery,
And why I wish that you could be
      But One's alone!

When I look out at dawn, the pool,
      Field, flock, and lonely tree,
      All seem to stare at me
Like well-behaved kids sitting quietly in class;

Their faces were dull, restricted, and tired,
      As if the master’s methods
      Throughout the long teaching days Had drained and overwhelmed their initial excitement for life.

p. 178And on them stirs, in lippings mere
      (As if once clear in call,
      But now scarce breathed at all)—
“We wonder, ever wonder, why we find ourselves here!

“Has some great foolishness,
      Powerful enough to create and merge,
      But helpless to care for,
Framed us in humor, and left us now to chance?”

“Or are we just an
      Automaton,
      Unaware of our suffering? . . .
      Or are we living remnants
Of divinity fading away, with mind and vision now lost?”

“Or is it that some great plan is unfolding,
      Not yet understood,
      Where Evil is challenged by Good,
We the Lost Cause over which Success walks?”

p. 179So things go on. No one answers me...
      Meanwhile, the winds and rains,
      And the Earth’s old gloom and pains
Are still the same, and happiest Life is close to Death.

That from this bright believing group
An outcast I should be,
That the beliefs my friends hold
Seem like illusions to me,
And the shimmering visions of their promised land,
Is a bleak fate.

Why should my soul be doomed
To misery,
p. 182Why am I always left feeling blind
To things my peers can see,
Why can't I find the joys they've found,
Remains a mystery.

Since my heart doesn’t know the ease
That they know; since it’s true
That He who wishes well to them
Wishes no well for me,
My struggles might stir their sympathies
And Christian charity!

I am like someone looking out
At a gathering inland
Pointing and saying, “Listen! Listen!
The magnificent faraway ocean!”
And feeling, “Oh no, it’s just that dark
And windswept pine tree for me!”

Yet I would accept my shortcomings
With calmness,
But for the claim that sacred things
I’d rather have untrue.
p. 185Oh, does a bird without wings
Choose to stay on the ground willingly!

Understood. Please provide the text for modernizing.

Enough. There's still some unease hanging around
Us. Let's take a break.

When we, as strangers, sought
   Their caring touch,
Veiled smiles hinted at their thoughts
   About who we were.
They warmed up as they believed
   We were more than friends—
That we had given everything
   For love’s precious goals.

And that quick empathy
With real love
p. 188That brings life to the world—perhaps
The heavens above,
Made them our guides,
Prompted them to say,
“Ah, God, if only happiness like theirs
Would brighten our day!”

And we were left alone
Like Love's own couple;
Yet the light of love never shone
Between us there!
But what chilled the breath
Of the afternoon,
And silenced unto death
The fly’s tune on the window.

The kiss they eagerly anticipated,
And now thought was here,
Did not come: within his grasp
Love remained numb.
Why did he bring to our shore
A flower that wasn't ours?
Why did he make us for his amusement
In the hours that followed?

p. 189As we appeared, we were not
That day far away,
And now we don't appear to be what
We are aching for.
Oh, dividing sea and land,
Oh, rules of men,
Before death, let us stand
As we did back then!

“Your husband—poor, poor Heart!—is dead—
Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
A bull escaped the barn,
Gored him, and there he lies!”

—“Ha, ha—go away! It’s a joke, I think,
You joker Kit!” she laughed.
“I’ve known you for many years, Kit Twink,
And you’ve always tricked me!”

p. 192—“But, Mistress Damon—I swear,
Your husband John is dead!
And soon you’ll hear the footsteps of those who will carry
His body to his bed.”

So unusually sad was the joyful man's face—
That face which had long been a mask—
That she stared and stared; and then could see
The truth there; and she believed.

She put her hand on the edge of the dresser,
   And looked out over the distant Egdon;
And stood there; you could hear the wind rustling the grass
   And the flowing Froom; until she shouted:

“O my room's such a mess, my bed’s
Not made, though the day’s already started!
‘What a careless slob!’ they’ll say,
When they all come up my stairs!”

p. 193She vanished; and the joker stood
Downhearted by his neighbor’s fate,
And astonished that a wife who became a widow
Initially thought about her messy room.

But two weeks later she couldn't eat,
And she wasted away slowly;
While Kit soon shed his sad mood
And laughed like he used to.

1894.

The years have gone by slowly
Since I danced in this field
With someone who sparked joyfully
Love’s fleeting thrills!
But even after my time as a teacher,
I’m still the same as I was back then
In every important way
Of what men dream about.

Yet I notice the little chisel
Of ever-awake Time,
p. 196Ruining terrifying and grim
The symbol of my youth.
When at night he thinks I’m sleeping,
I feel him quietly digging
Within my bones, and piling up
The weirdest pains for later.

Still, I’d travel the world with Beauty,
I would laugh and sing with her,
I would avoid the highest duty
To go back to worshipping her.
But she’d reject my bold attempt,
She would not soothe the breeze
By whispering “Yours forever!”
As she did on this meadow.

1890.

They had been meeting on Sundays—her true love and she—
And at parties, maypole dances, and celebrations;
But she lived with a third uncle, and he
Swore night and day that her partner would be
Neighbor Sweatley—a guy often shaky on his feet
From having something a bit stronger than tea—
Who borrowed and moved people's belongings.

p. 202She cried, “Oh please, have mercy on me!” Nothing he would hear;
Then with wild tear-filled eyes, she complied.
She scolded when her Love was leaving her.
The pastor was informed, as the season approached,
To announce from the pulpit the names of the couple
As suitable to be joined as one.

The wedding day began and the morning went on;
The couple stood as groom and bride;
The evening passed, and when midnight was over
The people shouted, “God save the King,” and soon
The two walked home sadly.

The lover Tim Tankens mourned, heartbroken and sad
   To be separated from his beloved:
He wandered through the dark across fields, hills, and lakes,
p. 203And, almost without realizing it, found himself near
The house of the landlord, and now his Love,
   Where the lantern light revealed that they had arrived.

The bride looked for her chamber, so serene and pale
That a Northerner would think she was resigned;
But to those who had seen her in times of good fortune,
Like the white cloud of smoke over the red battlefield’s veil,
That look spoke of destruction behind.

The groom lingered with a drink to finish,
Then staggered to the barn for more,
When the candle's snuff ignited some chaff from his grain—
Flames spread, with red fire, with all its strength and force,
And around beams, thatch, and chimney fire roared.

p. 204Young Tim away over there, resting in the light,
Through bramble and underbrush, he makes his way,
Until he reaches the orchard, where quietly to the right
In the shelter of a apple tree, trembling with fright,
With only her nightgown to cover her from view,
His lonely young Barbree shows up.

Her cold little figure half-naked he sees
Playing around in the playful breeze,
Her light-stepping feet, her ten little toes,
All bare and sprinkled with Fall’s chilly dew,
While her big, bright eyes, through her hair hanging loose,
Shined like stars through a tangle of trees.

She watched closely; and just like when a dam is opened,
Her tears, held back by fear before,
p. 205With a flood of sobs pouring out,
Until it felt like her ability to cry had run dry
From the weight of the misfortune she carried.

“O Tim, my own Tim, I have to call you—I will!
The whole world has turned against me like this!
Can you help her who loved you, even after acting so poorly?
Can you feel sorry for her misery—care for her still?
When worse than her body, so trembling and cold,
Is her heart in its winter of sorrow!

“I think I almost could have handled it,” she said,
“If my troubles had come to me one at a time;
But oh, to be a slave to that husband for food,
And then, on top of that, forced to marry,
And then, on top of that, thrown out of bed,
Is more than I can take!”

p. 206Tim’s soul was like a lion within him—
(Tim had a big heart when his emotions were strained)—
“Do you feel for me, dear Barbree?” he cried;
And he threw his warm work jacket around her,
Created a support, lifted her up, so she clung to him
Like a kid on a ride, her figure held up
By the sleeves he tied around her.

Over pig pens, and garbage heaps, and apples, and hay,
   They stumbled straight into the night;
And finding along where a path lay,
At dawn reached Tim’s house, only seen on their way
By a neighbor or two who were up with the day;
   But they gathered no clue to the sight.

Then gentle Tim Tankens looked everywhere
For some clothes to cover her fair skin;
p. 207But
Even though he had plenty of trousers and vests,
He had nothing suitable for Barbree to wear,
Who, half terrified, stood and cried on a chair
At the mess she found herself in.

There was one thing to do, and that one thing he did,
He lent her some of his clothes,
And she took them forcefully; and while wearing them, she slipped,
Tim turned to the window, as modesty suggested,
Thinking, “Oh, that the picture my duty keeps hidden from my sight could be shown!”

In the attic, he tucked her away; there she huddled,
Shortening sleeves, legs, and tails to fit her limbs;
But most of the time, in a really bad spot,
p. 208Well aware that there’d be hell to pay
If it were discovered that, instead of being a victim of circumstances,
She was living in a place rented from Tim.

“Where’s the tranter?” said men and boys; “where can he be?”
“Where’s the tranter?” said Barbree alone.
“Where in the world is the tranter?” said everybody:
They sifted through the dust of his collapsed roof,
And all they could find was a bone.

p. 209Then the uncle shouted, “Oh Lord, please have mercy on me!”
And in fear, he began to regret his actions.
But before it was finished, and until she knew she was safe,
Barbree pulled up her ladder, securely locked her door—
Tim brought up breakfast, lunch, and dinner—
Until the word of her hiding got out.

Then came the usual commotion, noise, and excitement
Of a skimmington ride through the neighborhood, before
People had proof of old Sweatley's decline.
And decent folks all stood in shock,
Saying Tim and his lodger should take a chance and pair up:
So he took her to church. And some laughing guys
Shouted to Tim, “After Sweatley!” She said,
“I swear
I’m standing as a maiden today!”

Written 1866; published 1875.

She looked for the Studios, calling over
An architect, because she wanted to design.
He was clever and skilled
In all the details, big and small—
   Perfect to be her guide.

“Whatever it is,”
      he replied,
In a calm, clear voice and with a cool, clear perspective,
p. 212“I will act in accordance with sensible approaches
For the ups and downs that life presents,
And without going against the law of what’s stable,
   That I will do.”

“Shape me,” she said, “tall halls with intricate designs
And open arches, so that the scent and colors
Of flowers, and buzzing bees, can come in through,
The sounds of birds, and songs of the sea,
For these mean so much to me.”

“An idle whim!”
He burst out, Who could not be swayed by charming words:
“Give up all these buds and birds, the gentle breeze,
And fragrances, and colors, and everything that hesitates,
And pick instead the tight and gloomy wall,
For winter’s freeze.”

p. 215“Then frame,” she exclaimed, “broad panels of crystal glass,
So I can display my laughter and my brightness—
Brightness like the sun during the day, the stars’ at night—
Until rival heart-queens, filled with envy, lament, ‘Oh,
   Her glory!’ as they walk by.”

“O maid misled!”
He said sternly,
Whose easy insight saw her troubles;
“Where will the soul go when, tired of joy,
It withdraws, hides, and hopes no one will see?
Those who keep things private are best off,
Because you will get tired.”

“A small room, then, with swan and dove
Arranged closely, and decorated with unique designs
Of reds and purples, like a Paradise
Where my Love can meet me, I my Love,
When he becomes aware of this?”

p. 216“This is also bad,”
He replied again,
The man who influenced her like a ghost.
“At some point, seeing such a lovely spot
Will bring a pain too intense to bear,
When someone else’s brighter eyes attract his gaze;
Because you will fade.”

Then she said weakly: “Oh, find a way—
Some narrow, winding tower that's all my own,
To get to a loft where I can mourn alone!
It’s a small wish; please don’t, I beg you,
   Crush this last dear hope!”

“Such winding paths
Don’t suit your days,”
Said he, the man with the measuring eye;
“I must follow the rules as they dictate,
To be clear: Make room (since life ends unexpectedly)
To carry a boxed body down the stairs;
Because you will die.”

1867.

There were two young men of the same age,
With equal talent, status, strength, and family background;
They attended the same schools,
And developed their ideas with shared guidelines.

One thought about the life of man,
His hopes, his end, and started
To view the Market's dirty battle
As something hardly worth living for.

p. 218“I’ll aim for greater things,” he said,
“I’ll promote Truth and Purity;
This way, I’ll improve our human condition
And ease the pain. If I don’t succeed,

“By winning their hearts, my kind will
Provide enough for me to live modestly,
And shelter my Love in a quiet glen,
All to make them and their loved ones happy.”

Casually dressed, with pale features,
He quietly worked away:
Such a rush of power had brought a lot of wealth
Spent on things of lesser value.

Sometimes he wished his goals had been
To accumulate wealth like others;
Then he thanked his God he’d traveled too far
For any desire to pull him back.

He looked out from his loft one day
At the neglected garden below;
Nettles and hemlock covered the lawn,
And every flower had withered away.

p. 219He felt weak inside, so
He got up and looked for his promised love,
Determined to free her from her ties,
So she wouldn't suffer because of his downfall.

He met her with a casual attitude,
As if he no longer thought she was beautiful,
And said: “True love means nothing to me;
I can't kiss you: I'm done with you!”

(He was eager for her to scorn him,
To relieve her pain sooner;
For angry love burns bright and fades,
When starving love just lingers.)

Once it was over, his soul was so tossed around,
It no longer found the strength it had lost:
Hope was his only source of nourishment,
And when hope faded, decay followed.