Through vaults of pain,
Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness,
I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain
To dire distress.
And hammerings,
And quakes, and shoots, and stifling hotness, blent
With webby waxing things and waning things
As on I went.
"Where lies the end
To this foul way?" I asked with weakening breath.
Thereon ahead I saw a door extend -
The door to death.
It loomed more clear:
"At last!" I cried. "The all-delivering door!"
And then, I knew not how, it grew less near
Than theretofore.
And back slid I
Along the galleries by which I came,
And tediously the day returned, and sky,
And life--the same.
And all was well:
Old circumstance resumed its former show,
And on my head the dews of comfort fell
As ere my woe.
I roam anew,
Scarce conscious of my late distress . . . And yet
Those backward steps through pain I cannot view
Without regret.
For that dire train
Of waxing shapes and waning, passed before,
And those grim aisles, must be traversed again
To reach that door.
It is a painful experience to face so much pain and felt it.
Confrontation with death visualized, while suffering, in this meaningful, beautifully crafted and thought provoking poem. Thanks for sharing it here.
I have read and examined quite throughly Hardy's novel 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles' and I find this poem very much apt to certain parts of the book. I strongly commend - both the novel and the poem - to be read searchingly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful! Very emotional and creative