I <br />'Poor wanderer,' said the leaden sky, <br />'I fain would lighten thee, <br />But there are laws in force on high <br />Which say it must not be.' <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />-'I would not freeze thee, shorn one,' cried <br />The North, 'knew I but how <br />To warm my breath, to slack my stride; <br />But I am ruled as thou.' <br /> <br />III <br /> <br />-'To-morrow I attack thee, wight,' <br />Said Sickness. 'Yet I swear <br />I bear thy little ark no spite, <br />But am bid enter there.' <br /> <br />IV <br /> <br />-'Come hither, Son,' I heard Death say; <br />'I did not will a grave <br />Should end thy pilgrimage to-day, <br />But I, too, am a slave!' <br /> <br />V <br /> <br />We smiled upon each other then, <br />And life to me had less <br />Of that fell look it wore ere when <br />They owned their passiveness.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-subalterns-2/
