Thomas Hardy

(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928 / Dorchester / England)

According to the Mighty Working


I

When moiling seems at cease
In the vague void of night-time,
And heaven's wide roomage stormless
Between the dusk and light-time,
And fear at last is formless,
We call the allurement Peace.

II

Peace, this hid riot, Change,
This revel of quick-cued mumming,
This never truly being,
This evermore becoming,
This spinner's wheel onfleeing
Outside perception's range.

Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010

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