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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) A January Night (1879) The rain smites more and more, The east wind snarls and sneezes; Through the joints of the quivering door The water wheezes. The tip of each ivy-shoot Writhes on its neighbour’s face; There is some hid dread afoot That we cannot trace. Is it the spirit astray Of the man at the house below Whose coffin they took in to-day? We do not know. Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1666 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |