Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Chimes

That morning when I trod the town
The twitching chimes of long renown
Played out to me
The sweet Sicilian sailors’ tune,
And I knew not if late or soon
My day would be:

A day of sunshine beryl-bright
And windless; yea, think as I might,
I could not say,
Even to within years’ measure, when
One would be at my side who then
Was far away.

When hard utilitarian times
Had stilled the sweet Saint-Peter’s chimes
I learnt to see
That bale may spring where blisses are,
And one desired might be afar
Though near to me.

1. The Felled Elm and She
2. Her Temple
3. The Occultation
4. The West-of-Wessex Girl
5. Meditations on a Holiday

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1810

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