Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

* * *

  (The same thought resumed)

So, Time,
Royal, sublime;
Heretofore held to be
Master and enemy,
Thief of my Love’s adornings,
Despoiling her to scornings: –
The sound philosopher
Now sets him to aver
You are nought
But a thought
Without reality.

Young, old,
Passioned, cold,
All the loved-lost thus
Are beings continuous,
In dateless dure abiding,
Over the present striding
With placid permanence
That knows not transience:
Firm in the Vast,
First, last;
Afar, yet close to us.

1. Genitrix Laesa
2. Song from Heine
3. Nothing Matters Much
4. Timing Her
5. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1225

Последние стихотворения

To English version