As I drive to the junction of lane and highway,
And the drizzle bedrenches the waggonette,
I look behind at the fading byway,
And see on its slope, now glistening wet,
Distinctly yet
And the drizzle bedrenches the waggonette,
I look behind at the fading byway,
And see on its slope, now glistening wet,
Distinctly yet
Myself and a girlish form benighted
In dry March weather. We climb the road
Beside a chaise. We had just alighted
To ease the sturdy pony's load
When he sighed and slowed.
In dry March weather. We climb the road
Beside a chaise. We had just alighted
To ease the sturdy pony's load
When he sighed and slowed.
What we did as we climbed, and what we talked of
Matters not much, nor to what it led,—
Something that life will not be balked of
Without rude reason till hope is dead,
And feeling fled.
Matters not much, nor to what it led,—
Something that life will not be balked of
Without rude reason till hope is dead,
And feeling fled.
It filled but a minute. But was there ever
A time of such quality, since or before,
In that hill's story? To one mind never,
Though it has been climbed, foot-swift, foot-sore,
By thousands more.
A time of such quality, since or before,
In that hill's story? To one mind never,
Though it has been climbed, foot-swift, foot-sore,
By thousands more.
Primaeval rocks form the road's steep border,
And much have they faced there, first and last,
Of the transitory in Earth's long order;
But what they record in colour and cast
Is—that we two passed.
And much have they faced there, first and last,
Of the transitory in Earth's long order;
But what they record in colour and cast
Is—that we two passed.
And to me, though Time's unflinching rigour,
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight.
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight.
I look and see it there, shrinking, shrinking,
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love's domain
Never again
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love's domain
Never again
This poem is Hardy reminiscing over his early relationship with his first wife, Emma. He uses the tower symbolism to symbolize their marriage, a slightly different use than what we saw in Mrs. Dalloway
ReplyDeleteI noticed that he makes a pattern with his indentations of lines. At first glance it looked like semi circles so I thought it may have represented the cyclical and incessant flow of time... but they could have been more even curves if he had wanted that... so I doubt that. Does anyone know why he indents like that?
ReplyDeleteDid his relationship with his first wife end because she died? He doesn't seem resentful towards her so it doesn't look like they ended on a bad note, but he does not seem sad either. Maybe it is a long time after her death and he no longer grieves. The reason I think she died is because all that remains of his time with her now is, "one phantom figure."
I found this poem really interesting because (if I interpreted correctly...) it seems that Hardy has identified time as the true ruler/controller of love, because it can limit the time that we have with the people we love or want to be with.
Rereading the poem I /think/ I know how Hardy so clearly conveyed that the speaker was remembering/reminiscing. The poem starts in the present tense in the actual present, but when it shifts to the memory, it remains in the present tense for a couple of lines. Then it uses "we had just alighted." I don't know what the tense is called but it seems like a perfect transition between present "we alight" and past "we alighted." Sorry if that was boring/unsatisfying to read... haven't quite figured it out but I think there is definitely magic to the way that Hardy seamlessly changes tenses, to the point that I did not realize it until I was trying to figure out how he switched from present to memory and then back again.
The most interesting part of this poem to me was that "What we did as we climbed, and what we talked of / Matters not much, nor to what it led," yet there was never "A time of such quality" on that hill since they climbed it together. I think this says something about love. Maybe something like what you say and do with your lover is almost irrelevant compared to how you feel when you're with them?