Along the way <br />He walked that day, <br />Watching shapes that reveries limn, <br />And seldom he <br />Had eyes to see <br />The moment that encompassed him. <br /> <br /> <br />Bright yellowhammers <br />Made mirthful clamours, <br />And billed long straws with a bustling air, <br />And bearing their load <br />Flew up the road <br />That he followed, alone, without interest there. <br /> <br /> <br />From bank to ground <br />And over and round <br />They sidled along the adjoining hedge; <br />Sometimes to the gutter <br />Their yellow flutter <br />Would dip from the nearest slatestone ledge. <br /> <br /> <br />The smooth sea-line <br />With a metal shine, <br />And flashes of white, and a sail thereon, <br />He would also descry <br />With a half-wrapt eye <br />Between the projects he mused upon. <br /> <br /> <br />Yes, round him were these <br />Earth's artistries, <br />But specious plans that came to his call <br />Did most engage <br />His pilgrimage, <br />While himself he did not see at all. <br /> <br /> <br />Dead now as sherds <br />Are the yellow birds, <br />And all that mattered has passed away; <br />Yet God, the Elf, <br />Now shows him that self <br />As he was, and should have been shown, that day. <br /> <br /> <br />O it would have been good <br />Could he then have stood <br />At a focussed distance, and conned the whole, <br />But now such vision <br />Is mere derision, <br />Nor soothes his body nor saves his soul. <br /> <br /> <br />Not much, some may <br />Incline to say, <br />To see in him, had it all been seen. <br />Nay! he is aware <br />A thing was there <br />That loomed with an immortal mien.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-unconscious/
