Poems (Hardy)/The point of view
THE POINT OF VIEW
THERE rose a star; heaven-circling ways it kept,
As other stars, and shone to men as they,
Or less, or more; but as I looked, its rays
Concentered on the darkened truths of life,
Upon my vision, never clear and whole,
Full flashed with whitest light.
As other stars, and shone to men as they,
Or less, or more; but as I looked, its rays
Concentered on the darkened truths of life,
Upon my vision, never clear and whole,
Full flashed with whitest light.
"But therefore, then,
I have not named this heavenly star the sun
For all men's lighting?" Nay, but yet to me,
The visual angle makes that star the sun.
I have not named this heavenly star the sun
For all men's lighting?" Nay, but yet to me,
The visual angle makes that star the sun.
I march upon this parallel; I never say
How shine the stars from that. I do not know.
It is a truth of awe that I can use
The stars to find my bearings as I go;
Of joy, that other eyes from other points
Find theirs by whatso stars or sun they choose.
How shine the stars from that. I do not know.
It is a truth of awe that I can use
The stars to find my bearings as I go;
Of joy, that other eyes from other points
Find theirs by whatso stars or sun they choose.