Poem of the Day: ‘The Ruined Maid’

The Poem of the Day feature here in The New York Sun has run four poems by Thomas Hardy (1840–1928) over the past year or so, making him one of our most featured poets. His poetic corpus is so large, and so consistent, that there always seems to be another Hardy poem that catches the editorial eye. But it’s true that his poems tend to run a little grim — as does his fiction. What readers remember of his novels is the darkness of “Jude the Obscure,” “Far from the Madding Crowd,“ “The Mayor of Casterbridge,” and “Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”He did write some lighter fiction. There’s “The Hand of Ethelberta: A Comedy in Chapters” in 1876, for example, and (much better, perhaps his most enjoyable book) the small romance “Under the Greenwood Tree” in 1872. Hardy wrote some comic poetry, as well. For his birthday this month — June 2, 1840 — here’s “The Ruined Maid,” one of the lighter poems we offer on Wednesdays.The poem is in six quatrains of tetrameter, three-syllable feet in four-foot lines rhymed in pairs, with a repeated rhyme long-e rhyme in the last couplet of each stanza. A hyphen emphasizes the comically forced stress of the last syllable of such words as “prosperi-ty” and “melancho-ly.” With gestures toward a rural dialect, the poem mocks the tragedy of a fallen woman, a ruined maid, in the city: “’And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!’ — / ‘Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re ruined,’ said she.”The Ruined Maidby Thomas Hardy“O ’Melia, my dear, this does everything crown! Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town? And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?” — “O didn’t you know I’d been ruined?” said she. — “You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks, Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks; And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!” — “Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re ruined,” said she. — “At home in the barton you said ‘thee’ and thou,’ And ‘thik oon,’ and ‘theäs oon,’ ‘and t’other’; but now Your talking quite fits ’ee for high compa-ny!” — “Some polish is gained with one’s ruin,” said she. — “Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek, And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!” — “We never do work when we’re ruined,” said she. — “You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream, And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you seem To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!” — “True. One’s pretty lively when ruined,” said she. — “I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown, And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!” — “My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be, Cannot quite expect that. You ain’t ruined,” said she.___________________________________________With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems are drawn from the deep traditions of English verse: the great work of the past and the living poets who keep those traditions alive. The goal is always to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.

Poem of the Day: ‘The Ruined Maid’

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