Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

On Stinsford Hill at Midnight

I glimpsed a woman’s muslined form
Sing-songing airily
Against the moon; and still she sang,
And took no heed of me.

Another trice, and I beheld
What first I had not scanned,
That now and then she tapped and shook
A timbrel in her hand.

So late the hour, so white her drape,
So strange the look it lent
To that blank hill, I could not guess
What phantastry it meant.

Then burst I forth: ‘Why such from you?
Are you so happy now?’
Her voice swam on; nor did she show
Thought of me anyhow.

I called again: ‘Come nearer; much
That kind of note I need!’
The song kept softening, loudening on,
In placid calm unheed.

‘What home is yours now?’ then I said;
‘You seem to have no care.’
But the wild wavering tune went forth
As if I had not been there.

‘This world is dark, and where you are,’
I said, ‘I cannot be!’
But still the happy one sang on,
And had no heed of me.

NOTE. – It was said that she belonged to a body 
of religious enthusiasts.

1. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
2. Tragedian to Tragedienne
3. Song to an Old Burden
4. The Supplanter
5. To an Impersonator of Rosalind

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1490

Последние стихотворения

To English version