Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

On a Heath

I could hear a gown-skirt rustling
Before I could see her shape,
Rustling through the heather
That wove the common’s drape,
On that evening of dark weather
When I hearkened, lips agape.

And the town-shine in the distance
Did but baffle here the sight,
And then a voice flew forward:
‘Dear, is’t you? I fear the night!’
And the herons flapped to norward
In the firs upon my right.

There was another looming
Whose life we did not see;
There was one stilly blooming
Full nigh to where walked we;
There was a shade entombing
All that was bright of me.

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1949

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