 Poetry: October 29, 2008 Issue [#2690] |
  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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An Autumn Rain-Scene
by Thomas Hardy
There trudges one to a merry-making
With sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.
To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.
One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.
This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.
One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.
No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves on,
On whom the rain comes down.
And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him aat all,
On whom the rain comes down.
She Hears The Storm
by Thomas Hardy
There was a time in former years--
While my roof-tree was his--
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
I should have murmured anxiously,
'The prickling rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.'
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom in flood upon the moor,
The mud of Mellstock Leaze,
The candle slanting sooty-wick'd,
The thuds upon the thatch,
The eaves drops on the window flicked,
The clanking garden-hatch,
And what they mean to wayfarers,
I scarcely heed or mind;
He has won that storm-tight roof of hers
Which Earth grants all her kind.
Thomas Hardy was born on June 2, 1840 in Dorset, England. Hardy’s father worked as a stonemason and his mother was well educated women. Hardy was taught by his mother until the age of eight when he started school at Bockhampton. At the age of sixteen he left school and worked as an apprentice for a local architect. At the age of twenty-two Hardy moved to London and started school at King’s College London. Hardy knew he wanted to spend his time writing and tried to publish his first novel The Poor Man and the Lady in 1867, the novel failed to find a publisher and is said to have been destroyed. Though Hardy met defeat he continued to write and successfully wrote many novels and short stories throughout his life.
At the age of thirty, Hardy met and fell in love with Emma Lavinia Gifford. During his courtship of Emma, Hardy wrote and published anonymously Desperate Remedies in 1871 and Under the Greenwood Tree in 1872. In 1873, he published A Pair of Blue Eyes, in his own name. It was a story about the courtship of his wife. Hardy and Emma married in 1874. He used his novels for financial gain but believed himself a poet first and foremost and in 1898 he published his first book of poetry, Wessex Poems.
Emma died in 1912. Though the couple had been separated at the time of her death it was traumatic for Hardy. He took some time to travel and remember his life with Emma and later wrote several poems showing his grief during that time, that were published in Satires of Circumstance in 1914. Later that same year Hardy remarried Florence Dugdale, she was forty years younger than Hardy and worked as his secretary. His next book of poetry The Convergence of the Twain was published in 1915. In 1917 Hardy published Moments of Visionfollowed by Collected Poems 1919. He then published Late Lyrics and Earlier with Many Other Verses in 1922 and Human Shows, Far Phantasies, Songs and Trifles in 1925.
In December of 1927 Hardy fell ill with pleurisy. Even though Hardy was sick he wanted to continue his poetry. He wrote all the way up until his death on January 11, 1928. His final poems were dedicated to his wife. Winter Words in Various Moods and Metres was published in 1928.
Men Who March Away
by Thomas Hardy
Song of the Soldiers
What of the faith and fire within us
Men who march away
Ere the barn-cocks say
Night is growing gray,
To hazards whence no tears can win us;
What of the faith and fire within us
Men who march away!
Is it a purblind prank, O think you,
Friend with the musing eye
Who watch us stepping by,
With doubt and dolorous sigh?
Can much pondering so hoodwink you?
Is it a purblind prank, O think you,
Friend with the musing eye?
Nay. We see well what we are doing,
Though some may not see --
Dalliers as they be --
England's need are we;
Her distress would leave us rueing:
Nay. We well see what we are doing,
Though some may not see!
In our heart of hearts believing
Victory crowns the just,
And that braggarts must
Surely bite the dust,
Press we to the field ungrieving,
In our heart of hearts believing
Victory crowns the just.
Hence the faith and fire within us
Men who march away
Ere the barn-cocks say
Night is growing gray,
To hazards whence no tears can win us;
Hence the faith and fire within us
Men who march away.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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