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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) * * * Where three roads joined it was green and fair, And over a gate was the sun-glazed sea, And life laughed sweet when I halted there; Yet there I never again would be. I am sure those branchways are brooding now, With a wistful blankness upon their face, While the few mute passengers notice how Spectre-beridden is the place; Which nightly sighs like a laden soul, And grieves that a pair, in bliss for a spell Not far from thence, should have let it roll Away from them down a plumbless well While the phasm of him who fared starts up, And of her who was waiting him sobs from near As they haunt there and drink the wormwood cup They filled for themselves when their sky was clear. Yes, I see those roads – now rutted and bare, While over the gate is no sun-glazed sea; And though life laughed when I halted there, It is where I never again would be. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1514 |
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