NATURE’S QUESTIONING

WHEN I look forth at dawning, pool,

Field, flock, and lonely tree,

All seem to gaze at me

Like chastened children sitting silent in a school;

Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn,

As though the master’s ways

Through the long teaching days

Their first terrestrial zest had chilled and overborne.

And on them stirs, in lippings mere

(As if once clear in call,

But now scarce breathed at all)—

“We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!

“Has some Vast Imbecility,

Mighty to build and blend,

But impotent to tend,

Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry?

“Or come we of an Automaton

Unconscious of our pains? . . .

Or are we live remains

Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone?

“Or is it that some high Plan betides,

As yet not understood,

Of Evil stormed by Good,

We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?”

Thus things around. No answerer I . . .

Meanwhile the winds, and rains,

And Earth’s old glooms and pains

Are still the same, and gladdest Life Death neighbours nigh.

THE IMPERCIPIENT

(AT A CATHEDRAL SERVICE)

THAT from this bright believing band

An outcast I should be,

That faiths by which my comrades stand

Seem fantasies to me,

And mirage-mists their Shining Land,

Is a drear destiny.

Why thus my soul should be consigned

To infelicity,

Why always I must feel as blind

To sights my brethren see,

Why joys they’ve found I cannot find,

Abides a mystery.

Since heart of mine knows not that ease

Which they know; since it be

That He who breathes All’s Well to these

Breathes no All’s-Well to me,

My lack might move their sympathies

And Christian charity!

I am like a gazer who should mark

An inland company

Standing upfingered, with, “Hark! hark!

The glorious distant sea!”

And feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark

And wind-swept pine to me!”

Yet I would bear my shortcomings

With meet tranquillity,

But for the charge that blessed things

I’d liefer have unbe.

O, doth a bird deprived of wings

Go earth-bound wilfully!

* * * * *

Enough. As yet disquiet clings

About us. Rest shall we.

[Picture: Sketch of inside of church]

Wessex Poems and Other Verses · 第 26 / 32 题