Томас Гарди (Харди) (Thomas Hardy)

* * *

She did not turn,
But passed foot-faint with averted head
In her gown of green, by the bobbing fern,
Though I leaned over the gate that led
From where we waited with table spread;
But she did not turn:
Why was she near there if love had fled?

She did not turn,
Though the gate was whence I had often sped
In the mists of morning to meet her, and learn
Her heart, when its moving moods I read
As a book – she mine, as she sometimes said;
But she did not turn,
And passed foot-faint with averted head.

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