Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Her Temple

Dear, think not that they will forget you:
– If craftsmanly art should be mine
I will build up a temple, and set you
Therein as its shrine.

They may say: ‘Why a woman such honour?’
– Be told, ‘O, so sweet was her fame,
That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
None now knows his name.’

1. Paying Calls
2. Joys of Memory
3. I Found Her Out There
4. Often When Warring
5. The Wind’s Prophecy

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1937

Последние стихотворения

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