On a Fine Morning
6/2/1840-1/11/1928
Whence comes Solace?--Not from seeing
What is doing, suffering, being,
Not from noting Life's conditions,
Nor from heeding Time's monitions;
But in cleaving to the Dream,
And in gazing at the gleam
Whereby gray things golden seem.
II
Thus do I this heyday, holding
Shadows but as lights unfolding,
As no specious show this moment
With its irised embowment;
But as nothing other than
Part of a benignant plan;
Proof that earth was made for man.
DayPoems Poem No. 1034
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1034.html">On a Fine Morning by Thomas Hardy</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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