Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Sun on the Letter

I drew the letter out, while gleamed
The sloping sun from under a roof
Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.

The burning ball flung rays that seemed
Stretched like a warp without a woof
Across the levels of the lea

To where I stood, and where they beamed
As brightly on the page of proof
That she had shown her false to me

As if it had shown her true – had teemed
With passionate thought for my behoof
Expressed with their own ardency!

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: 1943

Последние стихотворения

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