Thomas Hardy (Òîìàñ Õàðäè)

Song from Heine

I scanned her picture, dreaming,
Till each dear line and hue
Was imaged, to my seeming,
As if it lived anew.

Her lips began to borrow
Their former wondrous smile;
Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow,
Grew sparkling as erstwhile.

Such tears as often ran not
Ran then, my love, for thee;
And O, believe I cannot
That thou art lost to me!

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

Ðàñïå÷àòàòü ñòèõîòâîðåíèå (Poem to print)

Êîëè÷åñòâî îáðàùåíèé ê ñòèõîòâîðåíèþ: 525

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