(at a Cathedral Service) <br /> <br /> THAT from this bright believing band <br /> An outcast I should be, <br /> That faiths by which my comrades stand <br /> Seem fantasies to me, <br /> And mirage-mists their Shining Land, <br /> Is a drear destiny. <br /> <br /> Why thus my soul should be consigned <br /> To infelicity, <br /> Why always I must feel as blind <br /> To sights my brethren see, <br /> Why joys they've found I cannot find, <br /> Abides a mystery. <br /> <br /> Since heart of mine knows not that ease <br /> Which they know; since it be <br /> That He who breathes All's Well to these <br /> Breathes no All's Well to me, <br /> My lack might move their sympathies <br /> And Christian charity! <br /> <br /> I am like a gazer who should mark <br /> An inland company <br /> Standing upfingered, with, "Hark! hark! <br /> The glorious distant sea!" <br /> And feel, "Alas, 'tis but yon dark <br /> And wind-swept pine to me!" <br /> <br /> Yet I would bear my shortcomings <br /> With meet tranquillity, <br /> But for the charge that blessed things <br /> I'd liefer have unbe. <br /> <br /> O, doth a bird deprived of wings <br /> Go earth-bound wilfully! <br /> . . . . <br /> Enough. As yet disquiet clings <br /> About us. Rest shall we.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-impercipient/
