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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) At Moonrise and Onwards I thought you a fire On Heath-Plantation Hill, Dealing out mischief the most dire To the chattels of men of hire There in their vill. But by and by You turned a yellow-green, Like a large glow-worm in the sky; And then I could descry Your mood and mien. How well I know Your furtive feminine shape! As if reluctantly you show You nude of cloud, and but by favour throw Aside its drape... – How many a year Have you kept pace with me, Wan Woman of the waste up there, Behind a hedge, or the bare Bough of a tree! No novelty are you, O Lady of all my time, Veering unbid into my view Whether I near Death’s mew, Or Life’s top cyme! Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1479 |
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