Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Wind Blew Words

The wind blew words along the skies,
And these it blew to me
Through the wide dusk: ‘Lift up your eyes,
Behold this troubled tree,
Complaining as it sways and plies;
It is a limb of thee.

‘Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round –
Dumb figures, wild and tame,
Yea, too, thy fellows who abound –
Either of speech the same
Or far and strange – black, dwarfed, and browned,
They are stuff of thy own frame.’

I moved on in a surging awe
Of inarticulateness
At the pathetic Me I saw
In all his huge distress,
Making self-slaughter of the law
To kill, break, or suppress.

1. Genitrix Laesa
2. Song from Heine
3. V.R. 1819–1901
4. Over the Coffin
5. Song to an Old Burden

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