Thomas Hardy - The Mother Mourns lyrics

When mid-autumn's moan shook the night-time, And sedges were horny, And summer's green wonderwork faltered On leaze and in lane, I fared Yell'ham-Firs way, where dimly Came wheeling around me Those phantoms obscure and insistent That shadows unchain. Till airs from the needle-thicks brought me A low lamentation, As 'twere of a tree-god disheartened, Perplexed, or in pain. And, heeding, it awed me to gather That Nature herself there Was breathing in aerie accents, With dirgeful refrain, Weary plaint that Mankind, in these late days, Had grieved her by holding Her ancient high fame of perfection In doubt and disdain . . . - "I had not proposed me a Creature (She soughed) so excelling All else of my kingdom in compa** And brightness of brain "As to read my defects with a god-glance, Uncover each vestige Of old inadvertence, annunciate Each flaw and each stain! "My purpose went not to develop Such insight in Earthland; Such potent appraisements affront me, And sadden my reign! "Why loosened I olden control here To mechanize skywards, Undeeming great scope could outshape in A globe of such grain? "Man's mountings of mind-sight I checked not, Till range of his vision Has topped my intent, and found blemish Throughout my domain. "He holds as inept his own soul-shell - My deftest achievement - Contemns me for fitful inventions Ill-timed and inane: "No more sees my sun as a Sanct-shape, My moon as the Night-queen, My stars as august and sublime ones That influences rain: "Reckons gross and ignoble my teaching, Immoral my story, My love-lights a lure, that my species May gather and gain. "'Give me,' he has said, 'but the matter And means the gods lot her, My brain could evolve a creation More seemly, more sane.' - "If ever a naughtiness seized me To woo adulation From creatures more keen than those crude ones That first formed my train - "If inly a moment I murmured, 'The simple praise sweetly, But sweetlier the sage'—and did rashly Man's vision unrein, "I rue it! . . . His guileless forerunners, Whose brains I could blandish, To measure the deeps of my mysteries Applied them in vain. "From them my waste aimings and futile I subtly could cover; 'Every best thing,' said they, 'to best purpose Her powers preordain.' - "No more such! . . . My species are dwindling, My forests grow barren, My popinjays fail from their tappings, My larks from their strain. "My leopardine beauties are rarer, My tusky ones vanish, My children have aped mine own slaughters To quicken my wane. "Let me grow, then, but mildews and mandrakes, And slimy distortions, Let nevermore things good and lovely To me appertain; "For Reason is rank in my temples, And Vision unruly, And chivalrous laud of my cunning Is heard not again!"