Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Revulsion

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.

1. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
2. Tragedian to Tragedienne
3. The Three Tall Men
4. Song to an Old Burden
5. The Dead Bastard

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