Hero Worship

 Said he: "You saw the Master clear;
By Rushy Pond alone he sat,
Serene and silent as a seer,
in tweedy coat and seedy hat.

you tell me you did not intrude,
(Although his book was in your hand,)
Upon his melancholy mood .
 .
 .

 I do not understand.


"You did not tell him: 'I have come
From o'er the sea to speak to you.
'
You did not dare, your lips were dumb .
 .
 .

You thought a little zephyr blew
From Rushy Pond a touch of him
You'll cherish to your dying day,
Perhaps with tears your eyes were dim .
 .
 .

 And then - you went away.


"And down the years you will proclaim:
'O call me dullard, dub me dunce!
But let this be my meed of fame:
I looked on Thomas Hardy once.

Aye, by a stile I stood a span
And with these eyes did plainly see
A little, shrinking, shabby man .
 .
 .

 But Oh a god to me!'"

Said I: "'Tis true, I scarce dared look,
yet he would have been kind, I'm sure;
But though I clutched his precious book
I feared to beg his signature.

Ah yes, my friend, I merit mirth.

You're bold, you have the right to laugh,
And if Christ came again to earth
 You'd cadge his autograph.
"

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