Английская поэзия


ГлавнаяБиографииСтихи по темамСлучайное стихотворениеПереводчикиСсылкиАнтологии
Рейтинг поэтовРейтинг стихотворений

Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))


At Waking


When night was lifting,
And dawn had crept under its shade,
Amid cold clouds drifting
Dead-white as a corpse outlaid,
With a sudden scare
I seemed to behold
My Love in bare
Hard lines unfold.

Yea, in a moment,
An insight that would not die
Killed her old endowment
Of charm that had capped all nigh,
Which vanished to none
Like the gilt of a cloud,
And showed her but one
Of the common crowd.

She seemed but a sample
Of earth’s poor average kind,
Lit up by no ample
Enrichments of mien or mind.
I covered my eyes
As to cover the thought,
And unrecognize
What the morn had taught.

O vision appalling
When the one believed-in thing
Is seen falling, falling,
With all to which hope can cling.
Off: it is not true;
For it cannot be
That the prize I drew
Is a blank to me!

Weymouth, 1869

Thomas Hardy's other poems:
  1. There Seemed a Strangeness
  2. Nobody Comes
  3. The Sleep-Worker
  4. Long Plighted
  5. After the Fair


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

  • Sarah Jewett (Сара Джеветт) At Waking ("I heard the city bells at morning ring")

    Распечатать стихотворение. Poem to print Распечатать (Print)

    Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1334


    Последние стихотворения


    To English version


  • Рейтинг@Mail.ru

    Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru