Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

After the Death of a Friend

You died, and made but little of it! –
Why then should I, when called to doff it,
Drop, and renounce this worm-holed raiment,
Shrink edgewise off from its grey claimant?
Rather say, when I am Time-outrun,
As you did: Take me, and have done,
Inexorable, insatiate one!

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1948

Последние стихотворения

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