I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs around: “Wherefore, old friends,” said I, “are you distrest, Now, screened from life’s unrest?” But that our future second death is near; When, with the living, memory of us numbs, And blank oblivion comes! “These, our sped ancestry, Lie here embraced by deeper … Continue reading The To-Be-Forgotten — Thomas Hardy
Category: poetry
The Darkling Thrush
Some poems sound like bells tolling at the turn of an age, and Thomas Hardy’s The Darkling Thrush is one of them. Written on the eve of the twentieth century, it stands like a weathered milestone between centuries — one hand resting on the grave of the Victorian world, the other reaching hesitantly toward the … Continue reading The Darkling Thrush
Autumn’s Witness
Blackthorn Berries The hedgerows flame with fruit of sombre hue, Each berry set like embers in the thorn; The summer’s green has faded into rue, And autumn wakes to sing the day forlorn. Yet in the hush a robin strikes his chord, A steadfast hymn against the mist and chill; No choir of men, no … Continue reading Autumn’s Witness
The Ghost That Wasn’t There: On Hughes Mearns’ Antigonish
“Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.” Thus begins one of the most famous fragments of verse ever to slip through the cracks of English literature - part nursery rhyme, part ghost story, part psychological confession. Hughes Mearns’ Antigonish (1899) was written in the playful spirit of nonsense, yet like all … Continue reading The Ghost That Wasn’t There: On Hughes Mearns’ Antigonish
“Drop, Drop, Slow Tears” – A Meditation in the Margins
By a hopeless penitent with a bookshelf and a leaky conscience At the opening of Elizabeth Gaskell’s Ruth, before we meet the orphaned seamstress or the soft-hearted Bensons, we are met with tears. Not sentimental ones, but slow, penitential tears - each drop a silent argument for mercy. The chosen epigraph, “Drop, drop, slow tears”, … Continue reading “Drop, Drop, Slow Tears” – A Meditation in the Margins