Thomas Hardy: To an Unborn Pauper Child
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To an Unborn Pauper Child

6/2/1840-1/11/1928


I

         Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
         And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
         Sleep the long sleep:
         The Doomsters heap
         Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.

II

         Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
         And laughters fail, and greetings die:
         Hopes dwindle; yea,
         Faiths waste away,
         Affections and enthusiasms numb;
Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.

III

         Had I the ear of wombed souls
         Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
         And thou wert free
         To cease, or be,
         Then would I tell thee all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?

IV

         Vain vow! No hint of mine may hence
         To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
         Explain none can
         Life's pending plan:
         Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.

V

         Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot
         Of earth's wide wold for thee, where not
         One tear, one qualm,
         Should break the calm.
         But I am weak as thou and bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.

VI

         Must come and bide. And such are we -
         Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary -
         That I can hope
         Health, love, friends, scope
         In full for thee; can dream thou'lt find
Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!


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