The Well-Beloved

I wayed by star and planet shine
  Towards the dear one's home
At Kingsbere, there to make her mine
  When the next sun upclomb.

I edged the ancient hill and wood
  Beside the Ikling Way,
Nigh where the Pagan temple stood
  In the world's earlier day.

And as I quick and quicker walked
  On gravel and on green,
I sang to sky, and tree, or talked
  Of her I called my queen.

- "O faultless is her dainty form,
  And luminous her mind;
She is the God-created norm
  Of perfect womankind!"

A shape whereon one star-blink gleamed
  Glode softly by my side,
A woman's; and her motion seemed
  The motion of my bride.

And yet methought she'd drawn erstwhile
  Adown the ancient leaze,
Where once were pile and peristyle
  For men's idolatries.

- "O maiden lithe and lone, what may
  Thy name and lineage be,
Who so resemblest by this ray
  My darling?--Art thou she?"

The Shape: "Thy bride remains within
  Her father's grange and grove."
- "Thou speakest rightly," I broke in,
  "Thou art not she I love."

- "Nay: though thy bride remains inside
  Her father's walls," said she,
"The one most dear is with thee here,
  For thou dost love but me."

Then I: "But she, my only choice,
  Is now at Kingsbere Grove?"
Again her soft mysterious voice:
  "I am thy only Love."

Thus still she vouched, and still I said,
  "O sprite, that cannot be!" . . .
It was as if my bosom bled,
  So much she troubled me.

The sprite resumed: "Thou hast transferred
  To her dull form awhile
My beauty, fame, and deed, and word,
  My gestures and my smile.

"O fatuous man, this truth infer,
  Brides are not what they seem;
Thou lovest what thou dreamest her;
  I am thy very dream!"

- "O then," I answered miserably,
  Speaking as scarce I knew,
"My loved one, I must wed with thee
  If what thou say'st be true!"

She, proudly, thinning in the gloom:
  "Though, since troth-plight began,
I've ever stood as bride to groom,
  I wed no mortal man!"

Thereat she vanished by the Cross
  That, entering Kingsbere town,
The two long lanes form, near the fosse
  Below the faneless Down.

- When I arrived and met my bride,
  Her look was pinched and thin,
As if her soul had shrunk and died,
  And left a waste within.

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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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"The Well-Beloved" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 20 Sep. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/36585/the-well-beloved>.

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