Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Absolute Explains
I ‘O no,’ said It: ‘her lifedoings Time’s touch hath not destroyed: They lie their length, with the throbbing things Akin them, down the Void, Live, unalloyed. II ‘Know, Time is toothless, seen all through; The Present, that men but see, Is phasmal: since in a sane purview All things are shaped to be Eternally. III ‘Your “Now” is just a gleam, a glide Across your gazing sense: With me, “Past”, “Future”, ever abide: They come not, go not, whence They are never hence. IV ‘As one upon a dark highway, Plodding by lantern-light, Finds but the reach of its frail ray Uncovered to his sight, Though mid the night V ‘The road lies all its length the same, Forwardly as at rear, So, outside what you “Present” name, Future and Past stand sheer, Cognate and clear.’ VI – Thus It: who straightway opened then The vista called the Past, Wherein were seen, as fair as when They seemed they could not last, Small things and vast. VII There were those songs, a score times sung, With all their tripping tunes, There were the laughters once that rung, There those unmatched full moons, Those idle noons! VIII There fadeless, fixed, were dust-dead flowers Remaining still in blow; Elsewhere, wild love-makings in bowers; Hard by, that irised bow Of years ago. IX There were my ever memorable Glad days of pilgrimage, Coiled like a precious parchment fell, Illumined page by page, Unhurt by age. X ‘ – Here you see spread those mortal ails So powerless to restrain Your young life’s eager hot assails, With hazards then not plain Till past their pain. XI ‘Here you see her who, by these laws You learn of, still shines on, As pleasing-pure as erst she was, Though you think she lies yon, Graved, glow all gone. XII ‘Here are those others you used to prize. – But why go further we? The Future? – Well, I would advise You let the future be, Unshown by me! XIII ‘’Twould harrow you to see undraped The scenes in ripe array That wait your globe – all worked and shaped; And I’ll not, as I say, Bare them to-day. XIV ‘In fine, Time is a mock, – yea, such! – As he might well confess: Yet hath he been believed in much, Though lately, under stress Of science, less. XV ‘And hence, of her you asked about At your first speaking: she Hath, I assure you, not passed out Of continuity, But is in me. XVI ‘So thus doth Being’s length transcend Time’s ancient regal claim To see all lengths begin and end. “The Fourth Dimension” fame Bruits as its name.’
New Year’s Eve, 1922
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
897
