The Self-Unseeing

PM00000090000001030 15: 2012 § 3 Comments

The Self-Unseeing

By Thomas Hardy

Here is the ancient floor,
Footworn and hollowed and thin,
Here was the former door
Where the dead feet walked in.


She sat here in her chair,
Smiling into the fire;
He who played stood there,
Bowing it higher and higher.


Childlike, I danced in a dream;
Blessings emblazoned that day;
Everything glowed with a gleam;
Yet we were looking away!

§ 3 Responses to The Self-Unseeing

  • John Levett says:

    Don’t Go Far Off

    Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —
    because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
    and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
    when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

    Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because
    then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
    the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
    into me, choking my lost heart.

    Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
    may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
    Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest,

    because in that moment you’ll have gone so far
    I’ll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
    Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

    Pablo Neruda

  • ingridnewton says:

    We like to think that our presence registers in the fabric of a building, that we leave some sort of trace, that our homes are constructed of the many layers of lives lived, thoughts and dreams experienced. Or does a metaphorical new broom sweep the building clean for the next occupants when we move on?

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