Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Paradox

   (M.H.)

Though out of sight now, and as ’twere not the least to us;
Comes she in sorrows, as one bringing peace to us?
Lost to each meadow, each hill-top, each tree around,
Yet the whole truth may her largened sight see around?
Always away from us
She may not stray from us!
Can she, then, know how men’s fatings befall?
Yea indeed, may know well; even know thereof all.

1. If You Had Known
2. When Oats Were Reaped
3. The Seven Times
4. The Dead Bastard
5. The Dance at the Phœnix

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1930

Последние стихотворения

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