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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) At the Altar-Rail ‘My bride is not coming, alas!’ says the groom, And the telegram shakes in his hand. ‘I own It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room When I went to the Cattle-Show alone, And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps, And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps. ‘Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife – ’Twas foolish perhaps! – to forsake the ways Of the flaring town for a farmer’s life. She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says: “It’s sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest, But a swift, short, gay life suits me best. What I really am you have never gleaned; I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned.” ’ Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1318 |
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