Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Dream-Follower

A dream of mine flew over the mead
To the halls where my old Love reigns;
And it drew me on to follow its lead:
And I stood at her window-panes;

And I saw but a thing of flesh and bone
Speeding on to its cleft in the clay;
And my dream was scared, and expired on a moan,
And I whitely hastened away.

1. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
2. The Month’s Calendar
3. The Dead Bastard
4. In Death Divided
5. Paths of Former Time

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1706

Последние стихотворения

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