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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Penance ‘Why do you sit, O pale thin man, At the end of the room By that harpsichord, built on the quaint old plan? – It is cold as a tomb, And there’s not a spark within the grate; And the jingling wires Are as vain desires That have lagged too late.’ ‘Why do I? Alas, far times ago A woman lyred here In the evenfall; one who fain did so From year to year; And, in loneliness bending wistfully, Would wake each note In sick sad rote, None to listen or see! ‘I would not join. I would not stay, But drew away, Though the winter fire beamed brightly... Aye! I do to-day What I would not then; and the chill old keys, Like a skull’s brown teeth Loose in their sheath, Freeze my touch; yes, freeze.’ Thomas Hardy's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1576 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |