Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

In a Museum

I

Here’s the mould of a musical bird long passed from light,
Which over the earth before man came was winging;
There’s a contralto voice I heard last night,
That lodges in me still with its sweet singing.

II

Such a dream is Time that the coo of this ancient bird
Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending
Mid visionless wilds of space with the voice that I heard,
In the full-fugued song of the universe unending.

1. The End of the Episode
2. The Something that Saved Him
3. On One Who Lived and Died Where He Was Born
4. On a Discovered Curl of Hair
5. A Woman Driving

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1590

Последние стихотворения

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