A Commonplace Day

The day is turning ghost,
And scuttles from the kalendar in fits and furtively,
  To join the anonymous host
Of those that throng oblivion; ceding his place, maybe,
  To one of like degree.

  I part the fire-gnawed logs,
Rake forth the embers, spoil the busy flames, and lay the ends
  Upon the shining dogs;
Further and further from the nooks the twilight's stride extends,
  And beamless black impends.

  Nothing of tiniest worth
Have I wrought, pondered, planned; no one thing asking blame or
praise,
  Since the pale corpse-like birth
Of this diurnal unit, bearing blanks in all its rays -
  Dullest of dull-hued Days!

  Wanly upon the panes
The rain slides as have slid since morn my colourless thoughts; and
yet
  Here, while Day's presence wanes,
And over him the sepulchre-lid is slowly lowered and set,
  He wakens my regret.

  Regret--though nothing dear
That I wot of, was toward in the wide world at his prime,
  Or bloomed elsewhere than here,
To die with his decease, and leave a memory sweet, sublime,
  Or mark him out in Time . . .

  --Yet, maybe, in some soul,
In some spot undiscerned on sea or land, some impulse rose,
  Or some intent upstole
Of that enkindling ardency from whose maturer glows
  The world's amendment flows;

  But which, benumbed at birth
By momentary chance or wile, has missed its hope to be
  Embodied on the earth;
And undervoicings of this loss to man's futurity
  May wake regret in me.

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Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy, was a Scottish Minister, Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Professor of Eccesiastical History at Edinburgh University. more…

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"A Commonplace Day" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 17 Sep. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/36301/a-commonplace-day>.

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