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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Masked Face I found me in a great surging space, At either end a door, And I said: ‘What is this giddying place, With no firm-fixéd floor, That I knew not of before?’ ‘It is Life,’ said a mask-clad face. I asked: ‘But how do I come here, Who never wished to come; Can the light and air be made more clear, The floor more quietsome, And the doors set wide? They numb Fast-locked, and fill with fear.’ The mask put on a bleak smile then, And said, ‘O vassal-wight, There once complained a goosequill pen To the scribe of the Infinite Of the words it had to write Because they were past its ken.’ Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1748 |
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