The Wound

I climbed to the crest,
       And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
       Like a crimson wound:

Like that wound of mine
       Of which none knew,
For I'd given no sign
       That it pierced me through.

-by Thomas Hardy

At times, when you find such masterpieces, you can't help but want to share those with others. No sooner I read this poem than I had decided to post it here!