Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Chosen

‘A woman for whom great gods might strive!’
I said, and kissed her there:
And then I thought of the other five,
And of how charms outwear.

I thought of the first with her eating eyes,
And I thought of the second with hers, green-gray,
And I thought of the third, experienced, wise,
And I thought of the fourth who sang all day.

And I thought of the fifth, whom I’d called a jade,
And I thought of them all, tear-fraught;
And that each had shown her a passable maid,
Yet not of the favour sought.

So I traced these words on the bark of a beech,
Just at the falling of the mast:
‘After scanning five; yes, each and each,
I’ve found the woman desired – at last!’

‘ – I feel a strange benumbing spell,
As one ill-wished!’ said she.
And soon it seemed that something fell
Was starving her love for me.

‘I feel some curse. O, five were there?’
And wanly she swerved, and went away.
I followed sick: night numbed the air,
And dark the mournful moorland lay.

I cried: ‘O darling, turn your head!’
But never her face I viewed;
‘O turn, O turn!’ again I said,
And miserably pursued.

At length I came to a Christ-cross stone
Which she had passed without discern;
And I knelt upon the leaves there strown,
And prayed aloud that she might turn.

I rose, and looked; and turn she did;
I cried, ‘My heart revives!’
‘Look more,’ she said. I looked as bid;
Her face was all the five’s.

All the five women, clear come back,
I saw in her – with her made one,
The while she drooped upon the track,
And her frail term seemed well-nigh run.

She’d half forgot me in her change;
‘Who are you? Won’t you say
Who you may be, you man so strange,
Following since yesterday?’

I took the composite form she was,
And carried her to an arbour small,
Not passion-moved, but even because
In one I could atone to all.

And there she lies, and there I tend,
Till my life’s threads unwind,
A various womanhood in blend –
Not one, but all combined.

1. The Supplanter
2. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
3. At the Word ‘Farewell’
4. Tragedian to Tragedienne
5. The Three Tall Men

Ella Wilcox The Chosen ("They stood before the Angel at the gate")

Print

1383 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version