WHEN you paced forth, to wait maternity, <br /> A dream of other offspring held my mind, <br /> Compounded of us twain as Love designed; <br /> Rare forms, that corporate now will never be! <br /> <br /> Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode's decree, <br /> And each thus found apart, of false desire, <br /> A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire <br /> As had fired ours could ever have mingled we; <br /> <br /> And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose, <br /> Each mourn the double waste; and question dare <br /> To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows, <br /> Why those high-purposed children never were: <br /> What will she answer? That she does not care <br /> If the race all such sovereign types unknows.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-a-bridal/
