Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Seventy-Four and Twenty

Here goes a man of seventy-four,
Who sees not what life means for him,
And here another in years a score
Who reads its very figure and trim.

The one who shall walk to-day with me
Is not the youth who gazes far,
But the breezy sire who cannot see
What Earth’s ingrained conditions are.

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: 1949

Последние стихотворения

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