And to me, though Time’s unflinching rigour,
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight.
I look and see it there, shrinking, shrinking,
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love’s domain
Never again.
i enjoyed polanski's version of tess of the d'urbervilles when it came out & later when i saw it once again. polanski was clearly infatuated w/kinski's sensuous beauty, innocent yet sexual. hardy himself took criticism for his novel's "frank" portrayal of a "fallen" women & then took even more heat for his next(& last)novel, jude the obscure, again for it's "sexual" content. he simply refused to write another novel & turned to poetry. his late poems are really the first example of a western writer hitting a late powerful writing surge(yeats, stevens, henry roth, john ashbery are others). a post modern pre-modernist, he didn't let the bastards get him down.
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