Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

At the Word ‘Farewell’

She looked like a bird from a cloud
On the clammy lawn,
Moving alone, bare-browed
In the dim of dawn.
The candles alight in the room
For my parting meal
Made all things withoutdoors loom
Strange, ghostly, unreal.

The hour itself was a ghost,
And it seemed to me then
As of chances the chance furthermost
I should see her again.
I beheld not where all was so fleet
That a Plan of the past
Which had ruled us from birthtime to meet
Was in working at last:

No prelude did I there perceive
To a drama at all,
Or foreshadow what fortune might weave
From beginnings so small;
But I rose as if quicked by a spur
I was bound to obey,
And stepped through the casement to her
Still alone in the gray.

‘I am leaving you. . . . Farewell!’ I said,
As I followed her on
By an alley bare boughs overspread;
‘I soon must be gone!’

1. The End of the Episode
2. Бартелемон из Вухолла • Barthelemon at Vauxhall
3. The Month’s Calendar
4. Revulsion
5. The Orphaned Old Maid

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1429

Последние стихотворения

To English version