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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Signs and Tokens Said the red-cloaked crone In a whispered moan: ‘The dead man was limp When laid in his chest; Yea, limp; and why But to signify That the grave will crimp Ere next year’s sun Yet another one Of those in that house – It may be the best – For its endless drowse!’ Said the brown-shawled dame To confirm the same: ‘And the slothful flies On the rotting fruit Have been seen to wear While crawling there Crape scarves, by eyes That were quick and acute; As did those that had pitched On the cows by the pails, And with flaps of their tails Were far away switched.’ Said the third in plaid, Each word being weighed: ‘And trotting does In the park, in the lane, And just outside The shuttered pane, Have also been heard – Quick feet as light As the feet of a sprite – And the wise mind knows What things may betide When such has occurred.’ Cried the black-craped fourth, Cold faced as the north: ‘O, though giving such Some head-room, I smile At your falterings When noting those things Round your domicile! For what, what can touch One whom, riven of all That makes life gay, No hints can appal Of more takings away!’ Thomas Hardy's other poems:
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