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Thomas Hardy (Томас Харди)


She, to Him. 4


This love puts all humanity from me; 
I can but maledict her, pray her dead, 
For giving love and getting love of thee – 
Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed! 

How much I love I know not, life not known, 
Save as one unit I would add love by; 
But this I know, my being is but thine own – 
Fused from its separateness by ecstasy. 

And thus I grasp thy amplitudes, of her 
Ungrasped, though helped by nigh-regarding eyes; 
Canst thou then hate me as an envier 
Who see unrecked what I so dearly prize? 
Believe me, Lost One, Love is lovelier 
The more it shapes its moan in selfish-wise. 

1866

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. For Life I Had Never Cared Greatly
  2. On the Belgian Expatriation
  3. An Appeal to America on Behalf of the Belgian Destitute
  4. Men Who March Away
  5. In Time of Wars and Tumults


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