Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Rival

I determined to find out whose it was –
The portrait he looked at so, and sighed;
Bitterly have I rued my meanness
And wept for it since he died!

I searched his desk when he was away,
And there was the likeness – yes, my own!
Taken when I was the season’s fairest,
And time-lines all unknown.

I smiled at my image, and put it back,
And he went on cherishing it, until
I was chafed that he loved not the me then living,
But that past woman still.

Well, such was my jealousy at last,
I destroyed that face of the former me;
Could you ever have dreamed the heart of woman
Would work so foolishly!

1. The Prophetess
2. After the Death of a Friend
3. ‘A Gentleman’s Second-Hand Suit’
4. The Second Visit
5. I Rose Up as My Custom Is

Sylvia Plath (Сильвия Плат) The Rival ("If the moon smiled, she would resemble you")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1901

Последние стихотворения

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