Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

At a Bridal

                       Nature’s Indifference

When you paced forth, to await maternity, 
A dream of other offspring held my mind, 
Compounded of us twain as Love designed; 
Rare forms, that corporate now will never be! 

Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode’s decree, 
And each thus found apart, of false desire, 
A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire 
As had fired ours could ever have mingled we; 

And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose, 
Each mourn the double waste; and question dare 
To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows, 
Why those high-purposed children never were: 
What will she answer? That she does not care 
If the race all such sovereign types unknows.

1. If You Had Known
2. The Seven Times
3. Our Old Friend Dualism
4. When Oats Were Reaped
5. The Wind’s Prophecy

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1966

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