Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Woman in the Rye

‘Why do you stand in the dripping rye,
Cold-lipped, unconscious, wet to the knee,
When there are firesides near?’ said I.
‘I told him I wished him dead,’ said she.

‘Yea, cried it in my haste to one
Whom I had loved, whom I well loved still;
And die he did. And I hate the sun,
And stand here lonely, aching, chill;

‘Stand waiting, waiting under skies
That blow reproach, the while I see
The rooks sheer off to where he lies
Wrapt in a peace withheld from me!’

1. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
2. The Month’s Calendar
3. Genitrix Laesa
4. The Dead Bastard
5. In Death Divided

Print

1227 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version