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Biography of Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928)


Thomas Masterson Hardy (2 June 1840 - 11 January 1928) was a novelist and poet, generally regarded as one of the greatest figures in English literature.

Thomas Hardy was born near Dorchester in Dorset. His father was a stonemason. His mother was ambitious and well-read and supplemented his formal education. Hardy trained as an architect in Dorchester before moving to London to take up employment. He won prizes from the Royal Institute of British Architects and the Architectural Association.

His first novel, The Poor Man and the Lady, was finished in 1867 but failed to find a publisher. Desperate Remedies (1871) and Under the Greenwood Tree (1872) were published anonymously. In 1873, A Pair of Blue Eyes was published under his own name. The story draws on Hardy's courtship of Emma Gifford whom he married in 1874. His next novel, Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) was successful enough for Hardy to be able to give up his architectural work and take up a full-time literary career.

Over the next 25 years, Hardy produced 10 more novels. The Hardys moved from London to Yeovil, and then to Sturminster Newton, where he wrote The Return of the Native (1878). In 1885, they returned to Dorchester, moving into Max Gate, a house which Hardy had designed himself.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles (1891) attracted criticism for its sympathetic portrayal of a 'fallen woman' and was initially refused publication. Its subtitle, A Pure Woman, was intended to raise the eyebrows of the Victorian middle-classes and did so. His next major novel, Jude the Obscure (1895) caused an uproar. It was heavily criticized for its apparent attack on the institution of marriage. The book caused further strain on Hardy's already difficult marriage due to Emma's concern that it would be read as autobiographical. Some booksellers sold the novel in brown paper bags and the Bishop of Wakefield is reputed to have burnt a copy. Disgusted with the public reception of two of his greatest works, Hardy gave up writing novels altogether.

In 1898, Hardy published his first volume of poetry, Wessex Poems, a collection of poems written over the previous 30 years. His poetry was not as well received by his contemporaries as his novels had been, but Hardy continued to publish collections until his death in 1928.

Although Hardy had been estranged from his wife for some years, her sudden death in 1912 had a traumatic effect on him. He made a trip to Cornwall to revisit places linked with her and their courtship and wrote a series, Poems 1912-13, exploring his grief.

In 1914 he married Florence Dugdale, 40 years his junior, whom he had first met in 1905.

Hardy fell ill in December 1927 and died in January 1928, dictating his final poem to his wife on his deathbed. His funeral, on 16 January at Westminster Abbey, was a controversial occasion: his family and friends had wished him to be buried at Stinsford, but his executor, Sir Sydney Carlyle Cockerell, had insisted he should be placed in Poets' Corner. A compromise was reached, whereby his heart was buried at Stinsford and his ashes were interred in the abbey.

Hardy's novels, stories and many of the poems take place in the "partly-real, partly-dream" county of Wessex (named after the Anglo-Saxon kingdom which existed in the area). The landscape was modelled on the real counties of Berkshire, Devon, Dorset, Hampshire, Somerset and Wiltshire, with fictional places based on real locations. One of his distinctive achievements is to have captured the cultural atmosphere of rural Wessex in the golden epoch that existed just before the impact of the railways and the industrial revolution was to change the English countryside for ever.

His works are often deeply pessimistic and full of bitter irony, in sharp contrast to the prevalent Victorian optimism. His writing is sometimes rough and even inelegant but at its best is capable of immense power.

Critical response to Hardy's poetry has warmed considerably, in part because of the influence of Philip Larkin.

Hardy's cottage at Brockhampton and Max Gate in Dorchester are owned by the National Trust.


Biography by: This article is licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License and uses material adapted in whole or in part from the Wikipedia article on Thomas Hardy.


217 Poems written by Thomas Hardy

The poems are by default sorted according to volume, but you can also choose to sort them alphabetically or by page views.

Volume | Alphabetically | Page Views | Comments | [First Lines]


First LineComments
"Ah, are you digging on my grave, Comments and analysis of Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave? by Thomas Hardy 3 Comments
"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown! Comments and analysis of The Ruined Maid by Thomas Hardy 10 Comments
"O lonely workman, standing there
'There is not much that I can do,
'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
(A Reminiscence, 1893)
(After passing Sirmione, April 1887.)
(an Incident of Froom Valley)
(As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of "The Three Wayfarers")
(at a Cathedral Service) Comments and analysis of The Impercipient by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
(E. L. G.)
(Lines on the loss of the "Titanic") Comments and analysis of The Convergence Of The Twain by Thomas Hardy 5 Comments
(The 110th anniversary of the completion of the "Decline and Fall" at the same hour and place)
December 1899 Comments and analysis of A Wife In London by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Minor Key
Song of the Soldiers
Southampton Docks: October 1899
A bird sings the selfsame song,
A dream of mine flew over the mead
A forward rush by the lamp in the gloom,
A Load of brushes and baskets and cradles and chairs
A star looks down at me,
A Whimsey
And your sunny years with a gracious wife
Around the house the flakes fly faster,
AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
As I drive to the junction of lane and highway, Comments and analysis of At Castle Boterel by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
At last I entered a long dark gallery,
at news of her death
Between us now and here -
Between us now and here--
Bother Bulleys, let us sing
Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
By Corporal Tullidge. See "The Trumpet-Major"
By Mellstock Lodge and Avenue
CHANGE and chancefulness in my flowering youthtime,
Child, were I king, I'd yield my royal rule,
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
Con the dead page as 'twere live love: press on!
For A. W. B.
Forty years back, when much had place
Good Father!… ’Twas an eve in middle June,
Had he and I but met Comments and analysis of The Man He Killed by Thomas Hardy 5 Comments
Had I but lived a hundred years ago
He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair
He often would ask us Comments and analysis of The Choirmaster's Burial by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
He was leaning by a face,
Here is the ancient floor, Comments and analysis of The Self-Unseeing by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Here we broached the Christmas barrel,
Here's one in whom Nature feared--faint at such vying -
How do you know that the pilgrim track
How great my grief, my joys how few,
I Comments and analysis of The Subalterns by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I Comments and analysis of An August Midnight by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
I
I
I Comments and analysis of To Lizbie Browne by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I Comments and analysis of The Going of the Battery Wives. (Lament) by Thomas Hardy 2 Comments
I
I
I
I
I
I
I Comments and analysis of God's Funeral by Thomas Hardy 2 Comments
I am the family face;
I do not see the hills around,
I found me in a great surging space,
I leant upon a coppice gate Comments and analysis of The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy 5 Comments
I LONGED to love a full-boughed beech
I look into my glass, Comments and analysis of I Look Into My Glass by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
I MARK the months in liveries dank and dry,
I MARKED her ruined hues,
I need not go
I rose at night and visited
I said to Love,
I said to Love,
I sat in the Muses' Hall at the mid of the day,
I say, "She was as good as fair,"
I scanned her picture dreaming,
I towered far, and lo! I stood within Comments and analysis of God-Forgotten by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
I traced the Circus whose gray stones incline
I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
I wayed by star and planet shine
I WILL be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
I'm Smith of Stoke aged sixty odd
If but some vengeful god would call to me Comments and analysis of Hap by Thomas Hardy 2 Comments
If hours be years the twain are blest,
In a solitude of the sea Comments and analysis of Lines On The Loss Of The 2 Comments
In Memory of one of the Writer's Family who was a Volunteer during the War
In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy,
In the vaulted way, where the passage turned
IN vision I roamed the flashing Firmament,
In years defaced and lost,
Is it worth while, dear, now,
It faces west, and round the back and sides Comments and analysis of Domicilium by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
It was a wet wan hour in spring,
Knight, a true sister-love
Long have I framed weak phantasies of Thee,
Moments the mightiest pass calendared,
Much wonder I--here long low-laid -
My spirit will not haunt the mound
NOT a line of her writing have I,
O epic-famed, god-haunted Central Sea,
O life with the sad seared face,
O sweet To-morrow! -
Offended by a Book of the Writer's
Once more the cauldron of the sun
One without looks in tonight Comments and analysis of The Fallow Deer At The Lonely House by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Pale beech and pine-tree blue,
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away,
Pet was never mourned as you,
Portion of this yew
Queer are the ways of a man I know:
Scene.--A wide stretch of fallow ground recently sown with wheat, and
Shall we conceal the Case, or tell it -
SHOW thee as I thought thee
Since Reverend Doctors now declare
SNOW-BOUND in woodland, a mournful word,
Some say the spot is banned; that the pillar Cross-and-Hand
Somewhere afield here something lies
South of the Line, inland from far Durban,
Spoken by Miss Ada Rehan at the Lyceum Theatre, July 23, 1890, at a
Sunned in the South, and here to-day;
That mirror
That night your great guns, unawares,
The church flings forth a battled shade
The day is turning ghost,
The Roman Road runs straight and bare
THE sun had wheeled from Grey's to Dammer's Crest,
The sun said, watching my watering-pot
THE two were silent in a sunless church,
THE years have gathered grayly
There trudges one to a merry-making
There was a time in former years--
THERE were two youths of equal age,
These numbered cliffs and gnarls of masonry
They are not those who used to feed us
THEY bear him to his resting-place-- Comments and analysis of She At His Funeral by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
They had long met o' Zundays--her true love and she--
They hail me as one living,
They sing their dearest songs --
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest Comments and analysis of Drummer Hodge by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Thirty-two years since, up against the sun,
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
THIS love puts all humanity from me;
THOUGH I waste watches framing words to fetter
THREE captains went to Indian wars,
Through vaults of pain,
Thy shadow, Earth, from Pole to Central Sea,
To Jenny came a gentle youth
To M. H.
Under a daisied bank
UPON a noon I pilgrimed through Comments and analysis of Her Immortality by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
UPON a poet's page I wrote
WE stood by a pond that winter day,
We two kept house, the Past and I,
We walked where Victor Jove was shrined awhile,
We walked where Victor Jove was shrined awhile, Comments and analysis of Rome: On the Palatine. by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Well, World, you have kept faith with me,
When battles were fought
WHEN I look forth at dawning, pool,
When I set out for Lyonnesse,
WHEN Lawyers strive to heal a breach,
When mid-autumn's moan shook the night-time,
When the hamlet hailed a birth
When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
When the wasting embers redden the chimney-breast,
WHEN we as strangers sought
When wilt thou wake, O Mother, wake and see -
WHEN you paced forth, to wait maternity,
When you shall see me lined by tool of Time,
WHEN, soul in soul reflected,
Whence comes Solace?--Not from seeing
Where once we danced, where once we sang,
While the far farewell music thins and fails,
Who, then, was Cestius,
Why did you give no hint that night Comments and analysis of The Going by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
Why should this flower delay so long
WILLIAM Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough,
Wintertime nighs;
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Comments and analysis of The Voice by Thomas Hardy 1 Comment
You did not come, Comments and analysis of A Broken Appointment by Thomas Hardy 2 Comments
Your troubles shrink not, though I feel them less
"ALIVE?"--And I leapt in my wonder,
"Men know but little more than we,
"No--not where I shall make my own;
"O passenger, pray list and catch Comments and analysis of The Levelled Churchyard by Thomas Hardy 3 Comments
"OLD Norbert with the flat blue cap--
"The quay recedes. Hurrah! Ahead we go! . . .
"Thou shalt be--Nothing."--Omar Khayyam.
'TWAS a death-bed summons, and forth I went


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