Thomas Hardy (Òîìàñ Õàðäè)

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 Collector Cleans His Picture
2. Dream of the City Shopwoman
3. To My Father’s Violin
4. If It’s Ever Spring Again
5. The Wanderer

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