Poem by Thomas Hardy

* * *

I travel as a phantom now,
For people do not wish to see
In flesh and blood so bare a bough
As Nature makes of me.

And thus I visit bodiless
Strange gloomy households often at odds,
And wonder if Man’s consciousness
Was a mistake of God’s.

And next I meet you, and I pause,
And think that if mistake it were,
As some have said, O then it was
One that I well can bear!

1. The Woman in the Rye
2. When Oats Were Reaped
3. The Wind’s Prophecy
4. Meditations on a Holiday
5. If You Had Known

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