Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Sun on the Letter

I drew the letter out, while gleamed
The sloping sun from under a roof
Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.

The burning ball flung rays that seemed
Stretched like a warp without a woof
Across the levels of the lea

To where I stood, and where they beamed
As brightly on the page of proof
That she had shown her false to me

As if it had shown her true – had teemed
With passionate thought for my behoof
Expressed with their own ardency!

1. There Seemed a Strangeness
2. Nobody Comes
3. The Sleep-Worker
4. Long Plighted
5. After the Fair

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