Thomas Hardy - Poems

Classic Poetry Series Thomas Hardy - poems - Publication Date: 2004 Publisher: Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive Thomas Hardy(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928) Thomas Hardy was born June 2, 1840, in the village of Upper Bockhampton, located in Southwestern England. His father was a stone mason and a violinist. His mother enjoyed reading and relating all the folk songs and legends of the region. Between his parents, Hardy gained all the interests that would appear in his novels and his own life: his love for architecture and music, his interest in the lifestyles of the country folk, and his passion for all sorts of literature. At the age of eight, Hardy began to attend Julia Martin's school in Bockhampton. However, most of his education came from the books he found in Dorchester, the nearby town. He learned French, German, and Latin by teaching himself through these books. At sixteen, Hardy's father apprenticed his son to a local architect, John Hicks. Under Hicks' tutelage, Hardy learned much about architectural drawing and restoring old houses and churches. Hardy loved the apprenticeship because it allowed him to learn the histories of the houses and the families that lived there. Despite his work, Hardy did not forget his academics: in the evenings, Hardy would study with the Greek scholar Horace Moule. In 1862, Hardy was sent to London to work with the architect Arthur Blomfield. During his five years in London, Hardy immersed himself in the cultural scene by visiting the museums and theaters and studying classic literature. He even began to write his own poetry. Although he did not stay in London, choosing to return to Dorchester as a church restorer, he took his newfound talent for writing to Dorchester as well. From 1867, Hardy wrote poetry and novels, though the first part of his career was devoted to the novel. At first he published anonymously, but when people became interested in his works, he began to use his own name. Like Dickens, Hardy's novels were published in serial forms in magazines that were popular in both England and America. His first popular novel was Under the Greenwood Tree, published in 1872. The next great novel, Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) was so popular that with the profits, Hardy was able to give up architecture and marry Emma Gifford. Other popular novels followed in quick succession: The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), The Woodlanders (1887), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). In addition to these larger works, Hardy published three collections of short stories and five smaller novels, all moderately successful. However, despite the praise Hardy's fiction received, many critics also found his works to be too shocking, especially Tess of the D'Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure. The outcry against Jude was so great that Hardy decided to stop writing novels and return to www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 1 his first great love, poetry. Over the years, Hardy had divided his time between his home, Max Gate, in Dorchester and his lodgings in London. In his later years, he remained in Dorchester to focus completely on his poetry. In 1898, he saw his dream of becoming a poet realized with the publication of Wessex Poems. He then turned his attentions to an epic drama in verse, The Dynasts; it was finally completed in 1908. Before his death, he had written over 800 poems, many of them published while he was in his eighties. By the last two decades of Hardy's life, he had achieved fame as great as Dickens' fame. In 1910, he was awarded the Order of Merit. New readers had also discovered his novels by the publication of the Wessex Editions, the definitive versions of all Hardy's early works. As a result, Max Gate became a literary shrine. Hardy also found happiness in his personal life. His first wife, Emma, died in 1912. Although their marriage had not been happy, Hardy grieved at her sudden death. In 1914, he married Florence Dugale, and she was extremely devoted to him. After his death, Florence published Hardy's autobiography in two parts under her own name. After a long and highly successful life, Thomas Hardy died on January 11, 1928, at the age of 87. His ashes were buried in Poets' Corner at Westminster Abbey. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2 "Between Us Now" Between us now and here - Two thrown together Who are not wont to wear Life's flushest feather - Who see the scenes slide past, The daytimes dimming fast, Let there be truth at last, Even if despair. So thoroughly and long Have you now known me, So real in faith and strong Have I now shown me, That nothing needs disguise Further in any wise, Or asks or justifies A guarded tongue. Face unto face, then, say, Eyes mine own meeting, Is your heart far away, Or with mine beating? When false things are brought low, And swift things have grown slow, Feigning like froth shall go, Faith be for aye. Thomas Hardy www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3 "How Great My Grief" (Triolet) How great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee! - Have the slow years not brought to view How great my grief, my joys how few, Nor memory shaped old times anew, Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee How great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee? Thomas Hardy www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4 "I Have Lived With Shades" I I have lived with shades so long, And talked to them so oft, Since forth from cot and croft I went mankind among, That sometimes they In their dim style Will pause awhile To hear my say; II And take me by the hand, And lead me through their rooms In the To-be, where Dooms Half-wove and shapeless stand: And show from there The dwindled dust And rot and rust Of things that were. III "Now turn," spake they to me One day: "Look whence we came, And signify his name Who gazes thence at thee." - --"Nor name nor race Know I, or can," I said, "Of man So commonplace. IV "He moves me not at all; I note no ray or jot Of rareness in his lot, Or star exceptional. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 5 Into the dim Dead throngs around He'll sink, nor sound Be left of him." V "Yet," said they, "his frail speech, Hath accents pitched like thine - Thy mould and his define A likeness each to each - But go! Deep pain Alas, would be His name to thee, And told in vain!" "O memory, where is now my youth, Who used to say that life was truth?" "I saw him in a crumbled cot Beneath a tottering tree; That he as phantom lingers there Is only known to me." "O Memory, where is now my joy, Who lived with me in sweet employ?" "I saw him in gaunt gardens lone, Where laughter used to be; That he as phantom wanders there Is known to none but me." "O Memory, where is now my hope, Who charged with deeds my skill and scope?" "I saw her in a tomb of tomes, Where dreams are wont to be; That she as spectre haunteth there Is only known to me." "O Memory, where is now my faith, One time a champion, now a wraith?" www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 6 "I saw her in a ravaged aisle, Bowed down on bended knee; That her poor ghost outflickers there Is known to none but me." "O Memory, where is now my love, That rayed me as a god above?" "I saw him by an ageing shape Where beauty used to be; That his fond phantom lingers there Is only known to me." Thomas Hardy www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 7 "I Said To Love" I said to Love, "It is not now as in old days When men adored thee and thy ways All else above; Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One Who spread a heaven beneath the sun," I said to Love. I said to him, "We now know more of thee than then; We were but weak in judgment when, With hearts abrim, We clamoured thee that thou would'st please Inflict on us thine agonies," I said to him. I said to Love, "Thou art not young, thou art not fair, No faery darts, no cherub air, Nor swan, nor dove Are thine; but features pitiless, And iron daggers of distress," I said to Love.

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