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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))


Though I waste watches framing words to fetter 
Some unknown spirit to mine in clasp and kiss, 
Out of the night there looms a sense ’twere better 
To fail obtaining whom one fails to miss. 

For winning love we win the risk of losing, 
And losing love is as one’s life were riven; 
It cuts like contumely and keen ill-using 
To cede what was superfluously given. 

Let me then never feel the fateful thrilling 
That devastates the love-worn wooer’s frame, 
The hot ado of fevered hopes, the chilling 
That agonizes disappointed aim! 
So may I live no junctive law fulfilling, 
And my heart’s table bear no woman’s name.


Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. The Place on the Map
  2. To My Father’s Violin
  3. The Sexton at Longpuddle
  4. The Rover Come Home
  5. Standing by the Mantelpiece

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