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Read more poems by Thomas Hardy: Thomas Hardy Poems at Poetry X.

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Hap

Thomas Hardy

If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
that thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"

Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so.  How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 17 Oct 2018 11:55 AM | Viewed: 17051 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2744/ | Viewed on 17 October 2018.
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