Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

At a Bridal

                       Nature’s Indifference

When you paced forth, to await maternity, 
A dream of other offspring held my mind, 
Compounded of us twain as Love designed; 
Rare forms, that corporate now will never be! 

Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode’s decree, 
And each thus found apart, of false desire, 
A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire 
As had fired ours could ever have mingled we; 

And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose, 
Each mourn the double waste; and question dare 
To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows, 
Why those high-purposed children never were: 
What will she answer? That she does not care 
If the race all such sovereign types unknows.

1. A Victorian Rehearsal
2. The Month’s Calendar
3. The Dead Bastard
4. V.R. 1819–1901
5. Zermatt: To the Matterhorn

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