Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Wind Blew Words

The wind blew words along the skies,
And these it blew to me
Through the wide dusk: ‘Lift up your eyes,
Behold this troubled tree,
Complaining as it sways and plies;
It is a limb of thee.

‘Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round –
Dumb figures, wild and tame,
Yea, too, thy fellows who abound –
Either of speech the same
Or far and strange – black, dwarfed, and browned,
They are stuff of thy own frame.’

I moved on in a surging awe
Of inarticulateness
At the pathetic Me I saw
In all his huge distress,
Making self-slaughter of the law
To kill, break, or suppress.

1. Paying Calls
2. In Front of the Landscape
3. Joys of Memory
4. I Found Her Out There
5. She Charged Me

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2550

Последние стихотворения

To English version