Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Moon Looks In

I

I have risen again,
And awhile survey
By my chilly ray
Through your window-pane
Your upturned face,
As you think, ‘Ah – she
Now dreams of me
In her distant place!’

II

I pierce her blind
In her far-off home:
She fixes a comb,
And says in her mind,
‘I start in an hour;
Whom shall I meet?
Won’t the men be sweet,
And the women sour!’

1. The Prophetess
2. After the Death of a Friend
3. ‘A Gentleman’s Second-Hand Suit’
4. The Second Visit
5. I Rose Up as My Custom Is

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1836

Последние стихотворения

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