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

Hardy wisely chose and perfectly executed the best medium (the triolet) to playfully express wit and sarcasm.

i relly like this poem it makes me hard as a rock. dont worry, im asian so its okay for me to not be racist towards others. can someone tell me if hes a jew or not because i want to meet him if hes not.

This poem can be smd i belive it was ritten by a jew. im asian so im not racist.

Always together, eternally apart is grief and its factor. How great the grief, the joy how few... There's more to this piece... Hmmm. Does this mean fate can predetermine grief?

How great His grief, it's just the same
For those who come to know Thee
For we see struggles in the game
How great His grief, it's just the same
For those who follow in Your Name
When we realize the pain of those who chose to know Thee
How great His grief, it's just the same
For the world laughs at those who chose to know Thee

How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee!

Two very powerful declarative lines, outline a life which becomes mainly 'slow years' of intense sorrow, with few respites of joy, after a meeting of ill omen. The moral seems to be choose acquaintances and friends wisely and think carefully, before making life altering choices, because some options have devastating consequences. These sentiments are delightfully expressed in a revealing way.
This is a cleverly written poem crafted to a rigid requisite. The triolet must be written with eight lines rhyming in an exact rhyme scheme of abaaabab. The first, fourth, and seventh lines must be exactly the same, and the second and eighth lines. Thomas Hardy has written an interesting triolet, which laments the haunting memory of an error of judgement.

Brings forth the point, we meet people who impact our lives sometimes, beyond our comprehension and emotional control.

Pruchnicki is right of course. The poem is a perfectly executed triolet and as such is too playful a vehicle for the expression of real grief. Knowing something of Hardy's life and work, and even more of the Wessex temperament to which I am heir, it is not surprising that sorrow is an undertone in the poem but there is nothing of the raw emotion which characterises real grief. There is something else going on here. I sense Hardy's tongue well and truly stuck in his cheek. I suspect he is sending up the sad and sentimental melancholia of the folk songs of his native county

this style of writing is close to pantoum or lyrics of a song. he could be just
singing a tune...hoping somebody listen.

By repetition he tells us about the intensity of his grief in life! A technique with some effect may make the matter more formidable than actual!