The Voice of Things – Thomas Hardy

Forty years—aye, and several more—ago,

      When I paced the headlands loosed from dull employ,

The waves huzza’d like a multitude below,

      In the sway of an all-including joy

              Without cloy.

Blankly I walked there a double decade after,

      When thwarts had flung their toils in front of me,

And I heard the waters wagging in a long ironic laughter

      At the lot of men, and all the vapoury

              Things that be.

Wheeling change has set me again standing where

      Once I heard the waves huzza at Lammas-tide;

But they supplicate now—like a congregation there

      Who murmur the Confession—I outside,

              Prayer denied.

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The ubercynic is a cynician, if you will. Cynicians have lately proven surprisingly antagonistic to those sententious voices most committed to amplifying contemporary opinion. “In cyberspace, nobody can hear you dream."

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