The Impercipient
Thomas Hardy
THAT from this bright believing band | |
An outcast I should be, | |
That faiths by which my comrades stand | |
Seem fantasies to me, | |
And mirage-mists their Shining Land, | 5 |
Is a drear destiny. | |
Why thus my soul should be consigned | |
To infelicity, | |
Why always I must feel as blind | |
To sights my brethren see, | 10 |
Why joys they’ve found I cannot find, | |
Abides a mystery. | |
Since heart of mine knows not that ease | |
Which they know; since it be | |
That He who breathes All’s Well to these | 15 |
Breathes no All’s Well to me, | |
My lack might move their sympathies | |
And Christian charity! | |
I am like a gazer who should mark | |
An inland company | 20 |
Standing upfingered, with, “Hark! hark! | |
The glorious distant sea!” | |
And feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark | |
And wind-swept pine to me!” | |
Yet I would bear my shortcomings | 25 |
With meet tranquillity, | |
But for the charge that blessed things | |
I’d liefer have unbe. | |
O, doth a bird deprived of wings | |
Go earth-bound wilfully! . . . . | 30 |
Enough. As yet disquiet clings | |
About us. Rest shall we. |
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