Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Dissemblers

‘It was not you I came to please,
Only myself,’ flipped she;
‘I like this spot of phantasies,
And thought you far from me.’
But O, he was the secret spell
That led her to the lea!

‘It was not she who shaped my ways,
Or works, or thoughts,’ he said.
‘I scarcely marked her living days,
Or missed her much when dead.’
But O, his joyance knew its knell
When daisies hid her head!

1. Paying Calls
2. I Found Her Out There
3. The Wind’s Prophecy
4. The Collector Cleans His Picture
5. When Dead

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2035

Последние стихотворения

To English version