Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

* * *

My spirit will not haunt the mound
Above my breast,
But travel, memory-possessed,
To where my tremulous being found
Life largest, best.

My phantom-footed shape will go
When nightfall grays
Hither and thither along the ways
I and another used to know
In backward days.

And there you’ll find me, if a jot
You still should care
For me, and for my curious air;
If otherwise, then I shall not,
For you, be there.

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1976

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