Learn More

Thomas Hardy

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

The Satin Shoes


'If ever I walk to church to wed,
As other maidens use,
And face the gathered eyes,' she said,
'I'll go in satin shoes!'


She was as fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.


The time arrived when it was meet
That she should be a bride;
The satin shoes were on her feet,
Her father was at her side.


They stood within the dairy door,
And gazed across the green;
The church loomed on the distant moor,
But rain was thick between.


'The grass-path hardly can be stepped.
The lane is like a pool!' -
Her dream is shown to be inept,
Her wish they overrule.


'To go forth shod in satin soft
A coach would be required!'
For thickest boots the shoes were doffed -
Those shoes her soul desired….


All day the bride, as overborne,
Was seen to brood apart,
And that the shoes had not been worn
Sat heavy on her heart.


From her wrecked dream, as months flew on,
Her thought seemed not to range.
'What ails the wife?' they said anon,
'That she should be so strange?'…


Ah - what coach comes with furtive glide -
A coach of closed-up kind?
It comes to fetch the last year's bride,
Who wanders in her mind.


She strove with them, and fearfully ran
Stairward with one low scream:
'Nay - coax her,' said the madhouse man,
'With some old household theme.'


'If you will go, dear, you must fain
Put on those shoes - the pair
For your marriage, which the rain
Forbade you then to wear.'


She clapped her hands, flushed joyous hues;
'O yes - I'll up and ride
If I am to wear my satin shoes
And be a proper bride!'


Out then her little foot held she,
As to depart with speed;
The madhouse man smiled pleasantly
To see the wile succeed.


She turned to him when all was done,
And gave him her thin hand,
Exclaiming like an enraptured one,
'This time it will be grand!'


She mounted with a face elate,
Shut was the carriage door;
They drove her to the madhouse gate,
And she was seen no more….


Yet she was fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.

Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Satin Shoes by Thomas Hardy )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  2. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  3. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  4. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  5. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  6. Limbo, Seamus Heaney
  7. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  8. The Saddest Poem, Pablo Neruda
  9. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  10. A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas

Poem of the Day

poet James Whitcomb Riley

There! little girl; don't cry!
They have broken your doll, I know;
And your tea-set blue,
And your play-house, too,
Are things of the long ago;
...... Read complete »

   

New Poems

  1. Quote (Albert Einstein), Adriana Avila
  2. No One Could Ever Understand, Thabang Rakimane
  3. You made me evil, Yisel Chong
  4. The time machine, Yisel Chong
  5. Blue-eyed boy Mr. Death for e.e. cummings, r james sterzinger
  6. Salvation Jane, vince gullaci
  7. A Girl Called Memory, Mashewa1 Nthele
  8. A Fairytale, Apolynn Lagaras
  9. How I Once Spent a Friday Afternoon, M.J. Lemon
  10. Every dog's ordeal, Lubinda Lubinda
[Hata Bildir]