I
When moiling seems at cease
In the vague void of night-time,
And heaven's wide roomage stormless
Between the dusk and light-time,
And fear at last is formless,
We call the allurement Peace.
II
Peace, this hid riot, Change,
This revel of quick-cued mumming,
This never truly being,
This evermore becoming,
This spinner's wheel onfleeing
Outside perception's range.
According To The Mighty Working
Thomas Hardy
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Poem topics: change, fear, heaven, light, never, night, wide, perception, void, wheel, peace, time, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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