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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) A Week On Monday night I closed my door, And thought you were not as heretofore, And little cared if we met no more. I seemed on Tuesday night to trace Something beyond mere commonplace In your ideas, and heart, and face. On Wednesday I did not opine Your life would ever be one with mine, Though if it were we should well combine. On Thursday noon I liked you well, And fondly felt that we must dwell Not far apart, whatever befell. On Friday it was with a thrill In gazing towards your distant vill I owned you were my dear one still. I saw you wholly to my mind On Saturday - even one who shrined All that was best of womankind. As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea On Sunday night I longed for thee, Without whom life were waste to me! Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1968 |
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