Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Four in the Morning

At four this day of June I rise:
The dawn-light strengthens steadily;
Earth is a cerule mystery,
As if not far from Paradise
At four o’clock,

Or else near the Great Nebula,
Or where the Pleiads blink and smile:
(For though we see with eyes of guile
The grisly grin of things by day,
At four o’clock

They show their best.)... In this vale’s space
I am up the first, I think. Yet, no,
A whistling? and the to-and-fro
Wheezed whettings of a scythe apace
At four o’clock?...

– Though pleasure spurred, I rose with irk:
Here is one at compulsion’s whip
Taking his life’s stern stewardship
With blithe uncare, and hard at work
At four o’clock!

Bockhampton

1. On the Tune Called the Old-Hundred-and-Fourth
2. O I Won’t Lead a Homely Life
3. The Country Wedding
4. The Turnip-Hoer
5. Genitrix Laesa

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1245

Последние стихотворения

To English version