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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))


The Voice


Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.

Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then,
Standing as when I drew near to the town
Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,
Even to the original air-blue gown!

Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness
Travelling across the wet mead to me here,
You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,
Heard no more again far or near?

Thus I; faltering forward,
Leaves around me falling,
Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,
And the woman calling. 



Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. The Supplanter
  2. The Woman in the Rye
  3. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
  4. At the Wicket-Gate
  5. You Were the Sort that Men Forget


Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Matthew Arnold (Мэтью Арнольд) The Voice ("As the kindling glances")
  • Rupert Brooke (Руперт Брук) The Voice ("Safe in the magic of my woods")
  • Thomas Moore (Томас Мур) The Voice ("It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days")
  • Charlotte Mew (Шарлотта Мью) The Voice ("From our low seat beside the fire")

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