Томас Гарди (Харди) (Thomas Hardy)

The Marble-Streeted Town

I reach the marble-streeted town,
Whose ‘Sound’ outbreathes its air
Of sharp sea-salts;
I see the movement up and down
As when she was there.
Ships of all countries come and go,
The bandsmen boom in the sun
A throbbing waltz;
The schoolgirls laugh along the Hoe
As when she was one.

I move away as the music rolls:
The place seems not to mind
That she – of old
The brightest of its native souls –
Left it behind!
Over this green aforedays she
On light treads went and came,
Yea, times untold;
Yet none here knows her history –
Has heard her name.

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