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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529634" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Impercipient</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(at a Cathedral Service)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> THAT from this bright believing band<br> An outcast I should be,<br> That faiths by which my comrades stand<br> Seem fantasies to me,<br> And mirage-mists their Shining Land,<br> Is a drear destiny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Why thus my soul should be consigned<br> To infelicity,<br> Why always I must feel as blind<br> To sights my brethren see,<br> Why joys they've found I cannot find,<br> Abides a mystery.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Since heart of mine knows not that ease<br> Which they know; since it be<br> That He who breathes All's Well to these<br> Breathes no All's Well to me,<br> My lack might move their sympathies<br> And Christian charity!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I am like a gazer who should mark<br> An inland company<br> Standing upfingered, with, "Hark! hark!<br> The glorious distant sea!"<br> And feel, "Alas, 'tis but yon dark<br> And wind-swept pine to me!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Yet I would bear my shortcomings<br> With meet tranquillity,<br> But for the charge that blessed things<br> I'd liefer have unbe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O, doth a bird deprived of wings<br> Go earth-bound wilfully!<br> . . . .<br> Enough. As yet disquiet clings<br> About us. Rest shall we.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Hardy">Thomas Hardy</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529634" data-title="The Impercipient de Thomas Hardy" data-description="(at a Cathedral Service) THAT from this bright believing band An outcast I should be, That faiths by which my comrades stand Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a drear destiny. Why thus my soul should be consign..."></div> </div> </div>
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