To an Unborn Pauper Child
Thomas Hardy
1840 to 1928
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Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
Sleep the long sleep:
The Doomsters heap
and teens around us here,
And Time-Wraiths turn our to fear.
Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
laughters fail, and greetings die;
Hopes dwindle; yea,
Faiths away,
Affections and enthusiasms numb:
Thou canst not mend things if thou dost come.
Had I the ear wombed souls
Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
And thou free
To cease, or be,
Then would I tell all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt take Life so?
Vain vow! No hint of mine hence
To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
Explain can
Life's pending plan:
Thou wilt thy ignorant entry
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.
would I, dear, find some shut plot
Of earth's wold for thee, where not
One tear, one qualm,
break the calm.
But I am weak as thou bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.
Must come and bide. And such are we-
Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary-
That I can hope
Health, love, friends, scope
full for thee; can dream thou'lt find
Joys seldom attained by humankind!