Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Peace-Offering

It was but a little thing,
Yet I knew it meant to me
Ease from what had given a sting
To the very birdsinging
Latterly.

But I would not welcome it;
And for all I then declined
O the regrettings infinite
When the night-processions flit
Through the mind!

1. The Rift
2. Often When Warring
3. The Sun on the Letter
4. The Faded Face
5. The Opportunity

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1892

Последние стихотворения

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