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Thomas Hardy - A Meeting With Despair
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AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
        Which sight could scarce sustain:
     The black lean land, of featureless contour,
        Was like a tract in pain.

     "This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one
        Where many glooms abide;
     Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun—
        Lightless on every side.

     I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
        To see the contrast there:
     The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
        "There`s solace everywhere!"

     Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
        I dealt me silently
     As one perverse—misrepresenting Good
        In graceless mutiny.

     Against the horizon`s dim-descernèd wheel
        A form rose, strange of mould:
     That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
        Rather than could behold.

     "`Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
        To darkness!" croaked the Thing.
     "Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent
        On my new reasoning.

     "Yea—but await awhile!" he cried. "Ho-ho!—
        Look now aloft and see!"
     I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven`s radiant show
        Had gone. Then chuckled he.
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