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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) * * * Why did I sketch an upland green, And put the figure in Of one on the spot with me? – For now that one has ceased to be seen The picture waxes akin To a wordless irony. If you go drawing on down or cliff Let no soft curves intrude Of a woman’s silhouette, But show the escarpments stark and stiff As in utter solitude; So shall you half forget. Let me sooner pass from sight of the sky Than again on a thoughtless day Limn, laugh, and sing, and rhyme With a woman sitting near, whom I Paint in for love, and who may Be called hence in my time! From an old note Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1440 |
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