In support of flash fictions.

I wrote a little flash piece today and I wanted to find the poem that I was vaguely recalling when I was writing it. The flash piece is only marginally inspired by it, but nonetheless, the poem informs the flash piece. I have not yet found the one I am specifically looking for (maybe it was Dickens and not Hardy), but this is very similar, and haunting.

 

Rain on a Grave

By Thomas Hardy

Clouds spout upon her
    Their waters amain
    In ruthless disdain, –
Her who but lately
    Had shivered with pain
As at touch of dishonour
If there had lit on her
So coldly, so straightly
    Such arrows of rain:

 

One who to shelter
    Her delicate head
Would quicken and quicken
    Each tentative tread
If drops chanced to pelt her
    That summertime spills
    In dust-paven rills
When thunder-clouds thicken
    And birds close their bills.

 

Would that I lay there
    And she were housed here!
Or better, together
Were folded away there
Exposed to one weather
We both, – who would stray there
When sunny the day there,
    Or evening was clear
    At the prime of the year.

 

Soon will be growing
    Green blades from her mound,
And daisies be showing
    Like stars on the ground,
Till she form part of them –
Ay – the sweet heart of them,
Loved beyond measure
With a child’s pleasure
    All her life’s round.
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