The Child And The Sage

A poem by Thomas Hardy

You say, O Sage, when weather-checked,
"I have been favoured so
With cloudless skies, I must expect
This dash of rain or snow."

"Since health has been my lot," you say,
"So many months of late,
I must not chafe that one short day
Of sickness mars my state."

You say, "Such bliss has been my share
From Love's unbroken smile,
It is but reason I should bear
A cross therein awhile."

And thus you do not count upon
Continuance of joy;
But, when at ease, expect anon
A burden of annoy.

But, Sage this Earth why not a place
Where no reprisals reign,
Where never a spell of pleasantness
Makes reasonable a pain?

December 21, 1908.

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