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Thomas Hardy (Томас Харди)


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.

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. For Life I Had Never Cared Greatly
  2. On the Belgian Expatriation
  3. An Appeal to America on Behalf of the Belgian Destitute
  4. Men Who March Away
  5. In Time of Wars and Tumults

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