[A.Buttle]

Impaler,

Your turn!!

If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstacy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"
Then I would bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
�Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

[Chris]

"Hap" by Thomas Hardy

[A.Buttle]

Right.

[Impaler]

You had me stumped, good sir. I must've read through 30 books looking for that poem.