Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Seasons of Her Year

I

Winter is white on turf and tree,
And birds are fled;
But summer songsters pipe to me,
And petals spread,
For what I dreamt of secretly
His lips have said!

II

O ’tis a fine May morn, they say,
And blooms have blown;
But wild and wintry is my day,
My song-birds moan;
For he who vowed leaves me to pay
Alone – alone!

1. Paying Calls
2. In Front of the Landscape
3. Joys of Memory
4. I Found Her Out There
5. She Charged Me

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1939

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