Thomas Hardy

I Am the One

I am the one whom ringdoves see
Through chinks in boughs
When they do not rouse
In sudden dread,
But stay on cooing, as if they said:
‘Oh; it’s only he.’

I am the passer when up-eared hares,
Stirred as they eat
The new-sprung wheat,
Their munch resume
As if they thought: ‘He is one for whom
Nobody cares.’

Wet-eyed mourners glance at me
As in train they pass
Along the grass
To a hollowed spot,
And think: ‘No matter; he quizzes not
Our misery.’

I hear above: ‘We stars must lend
No fierce regard
To his gaze, so hard
Bent on us thus, –
Must scathe him not. He is one with us
Beginning and end.’