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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Lost Love I play my sweet old airs – The airs he knew When our love was true – But he does not balk His determined walk, And passes up the stairs. I sing my songs once more, And presently hear His footstep near As if it would stay; But he goes his way, And shuts a distant door. So I wait for another morn, And another night In this soul-sick blight; And I wonder much As I sit, why such A woman as I was born! Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1690 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |