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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Sine Prole (Mediaeval Latin Sequence-Metre) Forth from ages thick in mystery, Through the morn and noon of history, To the moment where I stand Has my line wound: I the last one – Outcome of each spectral past one Of that file, so many-manned! Nothing in its time-trail marred it: As one long life I regard it Throughout all the years till now, When it fain – the close seen coming – After annals past all plumbing – Makes to Being its parting bow. Unlike Jahveh’s ancient nation, Little in their line’s cessation Moderns see for surge of sighs: They have been schooled by lengthier vision, View Life’s lottery with misprision, And its dice that fling no prize! Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1434 |
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