|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) In Childbed In the middle of the night Mother’s spirit came and spoke to me, Looking weariful and white – As ’twere untimely news she broke to me. ‘O my daughter, joyed are you To own the weetless child you mother there; “Men may search the wide world through,” You think, “nor find so fair another there!” ‘Dear, this midnight time unwombs Thousands just as rare and beautiful; Thousands whom High Heaven foredooms To be as bright, as good, as dutiful. ‘Source of ecstatic hopes and fears And innocent maternal vanity, Your fond exploit but shapes for tears New thoroughfares in sad humanity. ‘Yet as you dream, so dreamt I When Life stretched forth its morning ray to me; Other views for by and by!’ . . . . Such strange things did mother say to me. Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1437 |
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |