Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Christmastide

The rain-shafts splintered on me
As despondently I strode;
The twilight gloomed upon me
And bleared the blank high-road.
Each bush gave forth, when blown on
By gusts in shower and shower,
A sigh, as it were sown on
In handfuls by a sower.

A cheerful voice called, nigh me,
‘A merry Christmas, friend!’ –
There rose a figure by me,
Walking with townward trend,
A sodden tramp’s, who, breaking
Into thin song, bore straight
Ahead, direction taking
Toward the Casuals’ gate.

1. The End of the Episode
2. The Pair He Saw Pass
3. The Seven Times
4. Tragedian to Tragedienne
5. Nobody Comes

Emily Johnson (Эмили Джонсон) Christmastide ("I may not go to-night to Bethlehem")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1807

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