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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Without, Not Within Her It was what you bore with you, Woman, Not inly were, That throned you from all else human, However fair! It was that strange freshness you carried Into a soul Whereon no thought of yours tarried Two moments at all. And out from his spirit flew death, And bale, and ban, Like the corn-chaff under the breath Of the winnowing-fan. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1407 |
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