For Mr Hardy's poetic gift is not a late and freakish flowering. In the
volume into which has been gathered all his poetical work with the
exception of 'The Dynasts,'[12] are pieces bearing the date 1866 which
display an astonishing mastery, not merely of technique but of the
essential content of great poetry. Nor are such pieces exceptional.
Granted that Mr Hardy has retained only the finest of his early poetry,
still there are a dozen poems of 1866-7 which belong either entirely or
in part to the category of major poetry. Take, for instance, 'Neutral
Tones':--
'We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
'Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles long ago;
And some winds played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.
'The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing.
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