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| Keywords: thorncombe woods thorncombewoods dorset thomas hardy thomashardy upper bockhampton upperbockhampton tree Rushy Pond, a quarter of a mile from the cottage at Upper Bockhampton where Thomas Hardy was born. *** "I SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE" (Fickle Lover's Song) I SAID and sang her excellence : They called it laud undue. (Have your way, my heart, O!) Yet what was homage far above The plain deserts of my olden Love Proved verity of my new. "She moves a sylph in picture-land, Where nothing frosts the air :" (Have your way, my heart, O!) "To all winged pipers overhead She is known by shape and song," I said, Conscious of license there. I sang of her in a dim old hall Dream-built too fancifully, (Have your way, my heart, O!) But lo, the ripe months chanced to lead My feet to such a hall indeed, Where stood the very She. Strange, startling, was it then to learn I had glanced down unborn time, (Have your way, my heart, O!) And prophesied, whereby I knew That which the years had planned to do In warranty of my rhyme. BY RUSHY-POND. From 'MOMENTS OF VISION AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES' Thomas Hardy, published 1917. Rushy Pond, a quarter of a mile from the cottage at Upper Bockhampton where Thomas Hardy was born. *** "I SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE" (Fickle Lover's Song) I SAID and sang her excellence : They called it laud undue. (Have your way, my heart, O!) Yet what was homage far above The plain deserts of my olden Love Proved verity of my new. "She moves a sylph in picture-land, Where nothing frosts the air :" (Have your way, my heart, O!) "To all winged pipers overhead She is known by shape and song," I said, Conscious of license there. I sang of her in a dim old hall Dream-built too fancifully, (Have your way, my heart, O!) But lo, the ripe months chanced to lead My feet to such a hall indeed, Where stood the very She. Strange, startling, was it then to learn I had glanced down unborn time, (Have your way, my heart, O!) And prophesied, whereby I knew That which the years had planned to do In warranty of my rhyme. BY RUSHY-POND. From 'MOMENTS OF VISION AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES' Thomas Hardy, published 1917. | ||||
