Thomas Hardy (Òîìàñ Õàðäè)

Henley Regatta

She looks from the window: still it pours down direly,
And the avenue drips. She cannot go, she fears;
And the Regatta will be spoilt entirely;
And she sheds half-crazed tears.

Regatta Day and rain come on together
Again, years after. Gutters trickle loud;
But Nancy cares not. She knows nought of weather,
Or of the Henley crowd:

She’s a Regatta quite her own. Inanely
She laughs in the asylum as she floats
Within a water-tub, which she calls ‘Henley’,
Her little paper boats.

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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