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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Her Haunting-Ground Can it be so? It must be so, That visions have not ceased to be In this the chiefest sanctuary Of her whose form we used to know. – Nay, but her dust is far away, And ‘where her dust is, shapes her shade, If spirit clings to flesh,’ they say: Yet here her life-parts most were played! Her voice explored this atmosphere, Her foot impressed this turf around, Her shadow swept this slope and mound, Her fingers fondled blossoms here; And so, I ask, why, why should she Haunt elsewhere, by a slighted tomb, When here she flourished sorrow-free, And, save for others, knew no gloom? Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1485 |
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