Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

A Drizzling Easter Morning

And he is risen? Well, be it so... 
And still the pensive lands complain,
And dead men wait as long ago,
As if, much doubting, they would know
What they are ransomed from, before
They pass again their sheltering door.

I stand amid them in the rain,
While blusters vex the yew and vane;
And on the road the weary wain
Plods forward, laden heavily;
And toilers with their aches are fain
For endless rest – though risen is he.

1. If You Had Known
2. When Oats Were Reaped
3. The Seven Times
4. The Dead Bastard
5. The Dance at the Phœnix

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2099

Последние стихотворения

To English version