'Heredity', 'I am the One 'and 'The Ruined Maid' by Thomas Hardy

Thanks to Mr P for sending me back to Hardy. 

Here are three of my favourites. As far as the first is concerned, walking in Bradford city centre when I was in my early twenties, I experienced the shock as I glanced into a shop window and recognised my Dad's face walking along with me. 

That was not such a welcome recognition as when once much later, after his death, he walked alongside me in a dream and his loving presence was extremely welcome and needed.

If you have not heard of read 'The Ruined Maid' you might not know just how funny Hardy can be.



HEREDITY

I am the family face; 
Flesh perishes, I live on, 
Projecting trait and trace 
Through time to times anon, 
And leaping from place to place 
Over oblivion. 

The years-heired feature that can 
In curve and voice and eye 
Despise the human span 
Of durance -- that is I; 
The eternal thing in man, 
That heeds no call to die 




I AM THE ONE

I am the one whom ringdoves see
          Through chinks in boughs
          When they do not rouse
           In sudden dread,
But stay on cooing, as if they said:
          ‘Oh; it's only he.’

I am the passer when up-eared hares,
          Stirred as they eat
          The new-sprung wheat,
          Their munch resume
As if they thought; ‘He is one for whom
          Nobody cares.’

Wet-eyed mourners glance at me
          As in train they pass
         Along the grass
         To a hollowed spot,
And think: ‘No matter; he quizzes not
         Our misery.’

I hear above: ‘We stars must lend
          No fierce regard
          To his gaze, so hard
          Bent on us thus,—
Must scathe him not. He is one with us
           Beginning and end.’




THE RUINED MAID

"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown! 
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town? 
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" — 
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she. 

— "You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks, 
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks; 
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" — 
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she. 

— "At home in the barton you said thee' and thou,' 
And thik oon,' and theäs oon,' and t'other'; but now 
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!" — 
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she. 

— "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak 
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek, 
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!" — 
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she. 

— "You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream, 
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem 
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!" — 
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she. 

— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown, 
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" — 
"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be, 
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.