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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) At the Mill O Miller Knox, whom we knew well, And the mill, and the floury floors, And the corn, – and those two women, And infants – yours! The sun was shining when you rode To market on that day: The sun was set when home-along You ambled in the gray, And gathered what had taken place While you were away. O Miller Knox, ’twas grief to see Your good wife hanging there By her own rash and passionate hand, In a throe of despair; And those two children, one by her, And one by the waiting-maid, Borne the same hour, and you afar, And she past aid. And though sometimes you walk of nights, Sleepless, to Yalbury Brow, And glance the graveyard way, and grunt, ‘ ’Twas not much, anyhow: She shouldn’t ha’ minded!’ nought it helps To say that now. And the water dribbles down your wheel, Your mead blooms green and gold, And birds twit in your apple-boughs Just as of old. Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1716 |
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