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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lacking Sense Scene.--A sad-coloured landscape, Waddon Vale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">"O Time, whence comes the Mother's moody look amid her labours, <br>   As of one who all unwittingly has wounded where she loves? <br>   Why weaves she not her world-webs to according lutes and tabors, <br>With nevermore this too remorseful air upon her face, <br>   As of angel fallen from grace?" </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">II </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">- "Her look is but her story: construe not its symbols keenly: <br>   In her wonderworks yea surely has she wounded where she loves. <br>   The sense of ills misdealt for blisses blanks the mien most <br>queenly, <br>Self-smitings kill self-joys; and everywhere beneath the sun <br>   Such deeds her hands have done." </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">III </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">- "And how explains thy Ancient Mind her crimes upon her creatures, <br>   These fallings from her fair beginnings, woundings where she <br>loves, <br>   Into her would-be perfect motions, modes, effects, and features <br>Admitting cramps, black humours, wan decay, and baleful blights, <br>   Distress into delights?" </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">IV </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">- "Ah! know'st thou not her secret yet, her vainly veiled deficience, <br>   Whence it comes that all unwittingly she wounds the lives she <br>loves? <br>   That sightless are those orbs of hers?--which bar to her <br>omniscience <br>Brings those fearful unfulfilments, that red ravage through her zones <br>   Whereat all creation groans. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">V </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">"She whispers it in each pathetic strenuous slow endeavour, <br>   When in mothering she unwittingly sets wounds on what she loves; <br>   Yet her primal doom pursues her, faultful, fatal is she ever; <br>Though so deft and nigh to vision is her facile finger-touch <br>   That the seers marvel much. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">VI </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529639" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">"Deal, then, her groping skill no scorn, no note of malediction; <br>   Not long on thee will press the hand that hurts the lives it <br>loves; <br>   And while she dares dead-reckoning on, in darkness of affliction, <br>Assist her where thy creaturely dependence can or may, <br>   For thou art of her clay."</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Thomas+Hardy">Thomas Hardy</a></strong></div>