Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Cynic’s Epitaph

A race with the sun as he downed
I ran at evetide,
Intent who should first gain the ground
And there hide.

He beat me by some minutes then,
But I triumphed anon,
For when he’d to rise up again
I stayed on.

1. The Prophetess
2. After the Death of a Friend
3. The Second Visit
4. I Rose Up as My Custom Is
5. Nothing Matters Much

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1973

Последние стихотворения

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