Thomas Hardy (Òîìàñ Õàðäè)

The Woman in the Rye

‘Why do you stand in the dripping rye,
Cold-lipped, unconscious, wet to the knee,
When there are firesides near?’ said I.
‘I told him I wished him dead,’ said she.

‘Yea, cried it in my haste to one
Whom I had loved, whom I well loved still;
And die he did. And I hate the sun,
And stand here lonely, aching, chill;

‘Stand waiting, waiting under skies
That blow reproach, the while I see
The rooks sheer off to where he lies
Wrapt in a peace withheld from me!’

1. For Life I Had Never Cared Greatly
2. Men Who March Away
3. On the Belgian Expatriation
4. An Appeal to America on Behalf of the Belgian Destitute
5. In Time of Wars and Tumults

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