I need not go
Through sleet and snow
To where I know
She waits for me;
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And if some day, When none cries nay, I still delay To seek her side, (Though ample measure Of fitting leisure Await my pleasure) She will not chide............./// superb and great expression
Well expressed thoughts and feelings. An insightful work of art.......................................................
Man, you've got HER " under your thumb" ! ! ! ! this shall join other P H poems in my April 2019 showcase. thanks, dead guy. bri ;)
New cares may claim me, New loves inflame me, She will not blame me, But suffer it so. the great Hardy...... great poem. tony
The passage of years is evident, and the lover will one day lie side of his sured love. She is not with his company, he has not denied himself a life without her, and he is not ashamed of this. But, the one he loved will always be waiting. He needed go, time will eventually lead him there. Such subtle praise of our living world and one's regret to leave our sensual pleasures. Hardy. Gotta love the Jude in him.
Loved one lost but love looms large and lives!
A clue! 'By cypress sough'. Cypresses are popular cemetery trees, by tradition. Almost certainly he is visiting a grave. She will not chide, but he wishes she still could.
I agree that this is an ironic poem. It's possible the 'lover' is either not human, as some have suggested, or dead. He might be visiting a grave.
Such certainty in the devotion and depth of love Assured, confident, leisurely
Not to my personal taste. I'm afraid that this is what gets rhymers a bad name. The end rhymes are forced, the scansion non existent. He has written world famous novels and produced some fine poetry. There are better examples of his work elsewhere in PH.
love this poem, though to my eye, the language drips with ironic intent. No long left love will simply excuse the litany of lies the central character rehearses to himself
Sleet and snow For the love we know Till love endures Even the after glow............ I welcome all ye poets reading this to my page too.......
could be possible he was talking about his poetry? he was too busy writing stories.
I love this poem, though to my eye, the language drips with ironic intent. No long left love will simply excuse the litany of lies the central character rehearses to himself. Of course she will 'upbraid' and 'blame' him, but he is so caught up in his 'company', his 'world' his 'stress and strain' that he pushes the romantic ideal his love seeks further aside - never abandoning it, for that would engender too much guilt, but simply procrastinating the idyllic moment 'by Cypress sough' (i.e. a scene underneath the gentle whistle of wind through the branches of a Cypress tree) that seem less and less real. The character's love is doomed, but he does not know it yet and the pathos in the last line 'but suffer it so' seems to reflect his future doom brought on by this way of thinking.
Almost certainly refers to Emam Gifford