A Meeting With Despair

AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
  Which sight could scarce sustain:
  The black lean land, of featureless contour,
  Was like a tract in pain.

  "This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one
  Where many glooms abide;
  Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun--
  Lightless on every side.

  I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
  To see the contrast there:
  The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
  "There's solace everywhere!"

  Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
  I dealt me silently
  As one perverse--misrepresenting Good
  In graceless mutiny.

  Against the horizon's dim-descernèd wheel
  A form rose, strange of mould:
  That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
  Rather than could behold.

  "'Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
  To darkness!" croaked the Thing.
  "Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent
  On my new reasoning.

  "Yea--but await awhile!" he cried. "Ho-ho!--
  Look now aloft and see!"
  I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven's radiant show
  Had gone. Then chuckled he.

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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 Meeting With Despair" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 22 Feb. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/36308/a-meeting-with-despair>.

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