Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Seasons of Her Year

I

Winter is white on turf and tree,
And birds are fled;
But summer songsters pipe to me,
And petals spread,
For what I dreamt of secretly
His lips have said!

II

O ’tis a fine May morn, they say,
And blooms have blown;
But wild and wintry is my day,
My song-birds moan;
For he who vowed leaves me to pay
Alone – alone!

1. The Prophetess
2. After the Death of a Friend
3. ‘A Gentleman’s Second-Hand Suit’
4. The Second Visit
5. I Rose Up as My Custom Is

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1822

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