Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
33. A Meeting with Despair
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Which sight could scarce sustain:
The black lean land, of featureless contour,
Was like a tract in pain.
Where many glooms abide;
Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun—
Lightless on every side.
To see the contrast there:
The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
“There’s solace everywhere!”
I dealt me silently
As one perverse—misrepresenting Good
In graceless mutiny.
A form rose, strange of mould:
That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
Rather than could behold.
To darkness!” croaked the Thing.
“Not if you look aloft!” said I, intent
On my new reasoning.
Look now aloft and see!”
I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven’s radiant show
Had gone. Then chuckled he.