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Thomas Hardy (Томас Харди)


I marked her ruined hues, 
Her custom-straitened views, 
And asked, ‘Can there indwell 
      My Amabel?’ 

I looked upon her gown, 
Once rose, now earthen brown; 
The change was like the knell 
      Of Amabel. 

Her step’s mechanic ways 
Had lost the life of May’s; 
Her laugh, once sweet in swell, 
      Spoilt Amabel. 

I mused: ‘Who sings the strain 
I sang ere warmth did wane? 
Who thinks its numbers spell 
      His Amabel?’ – 

Knowing that, though Love cease, 
Love’s race shows no decrease; 
All find in dorp or dell 
      An Amabel. 

– I felt that I could creep 
To some housetop, and weep 
That Time the tyrant fell 
      Ruled Amabel! 

I said (the while I sighed 
That love like ours had died), 
‘Fond things I’ll no more tell 
      To Amabel, 

‘But leave her to her fate, 
And fling across the gate, 
“Till the Last Trump, farewell, 
      O Amabel!”’

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. A Private Man on Public Men
  2. The Night of the Dance
  3. Jubilate
  4. Regret Not Me
  5. The Last Signal

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