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Thomas Hardy (Томас 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!



Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. The Collector Cleans His Picture
  2. To My Father’s Violin
  3. If It’s Ever Spring Again
  4. The Wanderer
  5. The Wedding Morning


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