Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Just the Same

I sat. It all was past;
Hope never would hail again;
Fair days had ceased at a blast,
The world was a darkened den.

The beauty and dream were gone,
And the halo in which I had hied
So gaily gallantly on
Had suffered blot and died!

I went forth, heedless whither,
In a cloud too black for name:
– People frisked hither and thither;
The world was just the same.

1. There Seemed a Strangeness
2. Nobody Comes
3. The Sleep-Worker
4. Long Plighted
5. After the Fair

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1442

Последние стихотворения

To English version