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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Marble-Streeted Town I reach the marble-streeted town, Whose ‘Sound’ outbreathes its air Of sharp sea-salts; I see the movement up and down As when she was there. Ships of all countries come and go, The bandsmen boom in the sun A throbbing waltz; The schoolgirls laugh along the Hoe As when she was one. I move away as the music rolls: The place seems not to mind That she – of old The brightest of its native souls – Left it behind! Over this green aforedays she On light treads went and came, Yea, times untold; Yet none here knows her history – Has heard her name. Plymouth (1914?) Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1565 |
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