Specula

When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth,
It matters not
If south or north,
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
Nor think, if haply He thou seekst be late,
He does thee wrong.
To stile or gate
Lean thou thy head, and long!
It may be that to spy thee He is mounting
Upon a tower,
Or in thy counting
Thou hast mistaen the hour.
But, if He comes not, neither do thou go
Till Vesper chime.
Belike thou then shalt know
He hath been with thee all the time.

Thomas Edward Brown

Thomas Edward Brown was a Manx poet, scholar, and teacher known primarily for his humorous and satirical dialect poems. Born on May 5, 1830, in the Isle of Man, Brown's poetry often depicted rural Manx life, blending humor with a keen eye for detail. He spent a significant part of his career as a teacher and headmaster in England, which influenced his literary work. Brown's best-known collection, 'Fo'c's'le Yarns,' published in 1881, cemented his reputation as a significant literary figure in Manx culture. He passed away on October 29, 1897.

Thomas Edward Brown

Pain

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

I Bended Unto Me A Bough Of May

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

Statio Tertia

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

Dora

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

English

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I Say I'll Seek Her

I say, "I'll seek her side
Ere hindrance interposes;"
But eve in midnight closes,
And here I still abide.

When darkness wears I see
Her sad eyes in a vision;
They ask, "What indecision
Detains you, Love, from me? -

"The creaking hinge is oiled,
I have unbarred the backway,
But you tread not the trackway;
And shall the thing be spoiled?

"Far cockcrows echo shrill,
The shadows are abating,
And I am waiting, waiting;
But O, you tarry still!"

Thomas Hardy

Obviam

I needs must meet him, for he hath beset
All roads that men do travel, hill and plain;
Nor aught that breathes shall pass
Unchallenged of his debt.
But what and if, when I shall whet
My front to meet him, then, as in a glass,
Darkly, I shall behold that he is twain,
Earthward a mask of jet,
Heavenward a coronet
Sun-flushed with roseate gleams, In any case
It hardly can be called a mortal pain
To meet whom met I ne'er shall meet again.

Thomas Edward Brown

To Meet, Or Otherwise

Whether to sally and see thee, girl of my dreams,
    Or whether to stay
And see thee not! How vast the difference seems
    Of Yea from Nay
Just now. Yet this same sun will slant its beams
    At no far day
On our two mounds, and then what will the difference weigh!

Yet I will see thee, maiden dear, and make
    The most I can
Of what remains to us amid this brake Cimmerian
Through which we grope, and from whose thorns we ache,
    While still we scan
Round our frail faltering progress for some path or plan.

By briefest meeting something sure is won;
    It will have been:
Nor God nor Daemon can undo the done,
    Unsight the seen,
Make muted music be as unbegun,
    Though things terrene
Groan in their bondage till oblivion superve...

Thomas Hardy

I Need Not Go

I need not go
Through sleet and snow
To where I know
She waits for me;
She will wait me there
Till I find it fair,
And have time to spare
From company.

When I've overgot
The world somewhat,
When things cost not
Such stress and strain,
Is soon enough
By cypress sough
To tell my Love
I am come again.

And if some day,
When none cries nay,
I still delay
To seek her side,
(Though ample measure
Of fitting leisure
Await my pleasure)
She will riot chide.

What - not upbraid me
That I delayed me,
Nor ask what stayed me
So long? Ah, no! -
New cares may claim me,
New loves inflame me,
She will not blame me,
But suffer it so.

Thomas Hardy

Tenebræ

They say that I shall find him if I go
Along the dusty highways, or the green
Tracks of the downland shepherds, or between
The swaying corn, or where cool waters flow;
And others say, that speak as if they know,
That daily in the cities, in the mean
Dark streets, amid the crowd he may be seen,
With thieves and harlots wandering to and fro.

But I am blind. How shall a blind man dare
Venture along the roaring crowded street,
Or branching roads where I may never hit
The way he has gone? But someday if I sit
Quietly at this corner listening, there
May come this way the slow sound of his feet.

J. D. C. Fellow

Disguises

High stretched upon the swinging yard,
I gather in the sheet;
But it is hard
And stiff, and one cries haste.
Then He that is most dear in my regard
Of all the crew gives aidance meet;
But from His hands, and from His feet,
A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred:
Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet
With fragrance as of nard,
And myrrh, and cassia spiced,
He proffers me to taste.
Then I to Him: Art Thou the Christ?
He saith, Thou sayst.

Like to an ox
That staggers neath the mortal blow,
She grinds upon the rocks:
Then straight and low
Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks
The cradles rigged; with swerving of the blast
We go,
Our Captain last,
Demands
Who fired that shot? Each silent stan...

Thomas Edward Brown