Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The New Toy

She cannot leave it alone,
The new toy;
She pats it, smooths it, rights it, to show it’s her own,
As the other train-passengers muse on its temper and tone,
Till she draws from it cries of annoy: –
She feigns to appear as if thinking it nothing so rare
Or worthy of pride, to achieve
This wonder a child, though with reason the rest of them there
May so be inclined to believe.

1. Paying Calls
2. Joys of Memory
3. I Found Her Out There
4. Often When Warring
5. Her Temple

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1971

Последние стихотворения

To English version