At Castle Boterel
As I drive to the junction of lane and highway,
And the drizzle bedrenches the waggonette, waggonette – open carriage
I look behind at the fading byway,
And see on its slope, now glistening wet,
Distinctly yet
Myself and a girlish form benighted
In dry March weather. We climb the road
Beside a chaise. We had just alighted chaise – light cart
To ease the sturdy pony's load
When he sighed and slowed.
What we did as we climbed, and what we talked of
Matters not much, nor to what it led, -
Something that life will not be balked of balked of - denied
Without rude reason till hope is dead, rude reason – robust, good
And feeling fled. feeling fled – feeling has gone
It filled but a minute. But was there ever
A time of such quality, since or before,
In that hill's story? To one mind never,
Though it has been climbed, foot-swift, foot-sore,
By thousands more.
Primaeval rocks form the road's steep border, from the earliest ages in the world’s history
And much have they faced there, first and last,
Of the transitory in Earth's long order; transitory – not permanent, passing; order - history
But what they record in colour and cast cast – construction
Is - that we two passed.
And to me, though Time's unflinching rigour, though Time has taken
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight though Time in its mechanical way, has taken my beloved away
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight. alight – get out of the cart
I look and see it there, shrinking, shrinking,
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand* is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love's domain travel across the land that belongs to love
Never again.
*sand refers to the sand running through an hour glass; in other words, Hardy is an old man.
