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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Blow That no man schemed it is my hope – Yea, that it fell by will and scope Of That Which some enthrone, And for whose meaning myriads grope. For I would not that of my kind There should, of his unbiassed mind, Have been one known Who such a stroke could have designed; Since it would augur works and ways Below the lowest that man assays To have hurled that stone Into the sunshine of our days! And if it prove that no man did, And that the Inscrutable, the Hid, Was cause alone Of this foul crash our lives amid, I’ll go in due time, and forget In some deep graveyard’s oubliette The thing whereof I groan, And cease from troubling; thankful yet Time’s finger should have stretched to show No aimful author’s was the blow That swept us prone, But the Immanent Doer’s That doth not know, Which in some age unguessed of us May lift Its blinding incubus, And see, and own: ‘It grieves me I did thus and thus!’ Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1360 |
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