Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Drawing Details in an Old Church

I hear the bell-rope sawing,
And the oil-less axle grind,
As I sit alone here drawing
What some Gothic brain designed;
And I catch the toll that follows
From the lagging bell,
Ere it spreads to hills and hollows
Where people dwell.

I ask not whom it tolls for,
Incurious who he be;
So, some morrow, when those knolls for
One unguessed, sound out for me,
A stranger, loitering under
In nave or choir,
May think, too, ‘Whose, I wonder?’
But not inquire.

1. The Opportunity
2. Genitrix Laesa
3. The Peasant’s Confession
4. Joys of Memory
5. I Found Her Out There

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1978

Последние стихотворения

To English version