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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Sun on the Bookcase (Student’s Love-Song: 1870) Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my bed, And the apple-tree shadows travel along. Soon their intangible track will be run, And dusk grow strong And they have fled. Yes: now the boiling ball is gone, And I have wasted another day. . . . But wasted – wasted, do I say? Is it a waste to have imaged one Beyond the hills there, who, anon, My great deeds done, Will be mine alway? Thomas Hardy's other poems:
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