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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Evening Shadows The shadows of my chimneys stretch afar Across the plot, and on to the privet bower, And even the shadows of their smokings show, And nothing says just now that where they are They will in future stretch at this same hour, Though in my earthen cyst I shall not know. And at this time the neighbouring Pagan mound, Whose myths the Gospel news now supersede, Upon the greensward also throws its shade, And nothing says such shade will spread around Even as to-day when men will no more heed The Gospel news than when the mound was made. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1329 |
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