It’s a while since we had a poem on the Blog. This one is by Thomas Hardy. If you don’t like sad poems you may wish to avoid this one, it is however a poignant reminder that sometimes it’s the little things in life that matter to us.
The Satin Shoes
'If ever I walk to church to wed,
As other maidens use,
And face the gathered eyes,' she said,
'I'll go in satin shoes!'
She was as fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.
The time arrived when it was meet
That she should be a bride;
The satin shoes were on her feet,
Her father was at her side.
They stood within the dairy door,
And gazed across the green;
The church loomed on the distant moor,
But rain was thick between.
'The grass-path hardly can be stepped.
The lane is like a pool!' -
Her dream is shown to be inept,
Her wish they overrule.
'To go forth shod in satin soft
A coach would be required!'
For thickest boots the shoes were doffed -
Those shoes her soul desired….
All day the bride, as overborne,
Was seen to brood apart,
And that the shoes had not been worn
Sat heavy on her heart.
From her wrecked dream, as months flew on,
Her thought seemed not to range.
'What ails the wife?' they said anon,
'That she should be so strange?'…
Ah - what coach comes with furtive glide -
A coach of closed-up kind?
It comes to fetch the last year's bride,
Who wanders in her mind.
She strove with them, and fearfully ran
Stairward with one low scream:
'Nay - coax her,' said the madhouse man,
'With some old household theme.'
'If you will go, dear, you must fain
Put on those shoes - the pair
For your marriage, which the rain
Forbade you then to wear.'
She clapped her hands, flushed joyous hues;
'O yes - I'll up and ride
If I am to wear my satin shoes
And be a proper bride!'
Out then her little foot held she,
As to depart with speed;
The madhouse man smiled pleasantly
To see the wile succeed.
She turned to him when all was done,
And gave him her thin hand,
Exclaiming like an enraptured one,
'This time it will be grand!'
She mounted with a face elate,
Shut was the carriage door;
They drove her to the madhouse gate,
And she was seen no more….
Yet she was fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.
Thomas Hardy
5 comments:
'as fair as early day shining on meads unmown' - you know sometimes I read a phrase and think how I wish I could write that. Tht's one of them.
At the risk of spoiling the moment so is the great coat from Carry On Cleo (which may not have reached transatlantic shores but, is I assure our cousins, worth a gander) where Caesar says 'Infamy, infamy. They've all got it in for me.' Love it.
Thank you, Saffron. I enjoyed this Sunday selection and the photo perfectly compliments! Here's another poem penned by Thomas Hardy of I'm particularly fond:
Song of Hope
O sweet To-morrow! -
After to-day
There will away
This sense of sorrow.
Then let us borrow
Hope, for a gleaming
Soon will be streaming,
Dimmed by no gray -
No gray!
While the winds wing us
Sighs from The Gone,
Nearer to dawn
Minute-beats bring us;
When there will sing us
Larks of a glory
Waiting our story
Further anon -
Anon!
Doff the black token,
Don the red shoon,
Right and retune
Viol-strings broken;
Null the words spoken
In speeches of rueing,
The night cloud is hueing,
To-morrow shines soon -
Shines soon!
This poem drew responses from exactly who I thought it would *grins.
I’m glad you both liked it. I’ve just bought the Jumbo Girls' Book of Thomas Hardy Poems at a remaindered book store –so expect more.
I’d never read this poem before and that line caught me in exactly the same way Mons.
Infamy reminds me of the story of a guy drowning his sorrows. Somebody asked what was wrong. He said, ‘my wife is having a ‘grudge baby’’
‘A ‘grudge baby?’ retorted the enquirer.
‘Yes,’ replied the guy ‘somebody had it in-fer-me.’
Oh so you didn't think I would like it too?
What I love about this blog is you never know what you are going to get next.
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