Poems & Poets

Thomas Hardy Describes My Morning

Readers,

It seems as though everyone I know has been sick recently and I woke up a little under the weather myself.  Sinus headaches are the worst, especially when you wake up with one.  Here’s a poem from Thomas Hardy dedicated to all those who have struggled with something similar.

A Wasted Illness

Through vaults of pain,
Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness,
I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain
To dire distress.

And hammerings,
And quakes, and shoots, and stifling hotness, blent
With webby waxing things and waning things
As on I went.

“Where lies the end
To this foul way?” I asked with weakening breath.
Thereon ahead I saw a door extend –
The door to death.

It loomed more clear:
“At last!” I cried. “The all-delivering door!”
And then, I knew not how, it grew less near
Than theretofore.

And back slid I
Along the galleries by which I came,
And tediously the day returned, and sky,
And life–the same.

And all was well:
Old circumstance resumed its former show,
And on my head the dews of comfort fell
As ere my woe.

I roam anew,
Scarce conscious of my late distress … And yet
Those backward steps through pain I cannot view
Without regret.

For that dire train
Of waxing shapes and waning, passed before,
And those grim aisles, must be traversed again
To reach that door.

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About The Mad Hatter

A little random, oftentimes heady, totally looking for purpose. I'm moved by topics across the board, sometimes focusing on reading classic literature or more recent philosophy; sometimes given to less productive impulses. In order to stay active, I've also just joined the Yahoo Contributor Network.

Discussion

One thought on “Thomas Hardy Describes My Morning

  1. I’ve never seen a head cold so beautifully expressed. Hope you’re feeling better soon.

    Posted by Girly | April 2, 2011, 9:06 am

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