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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) * * * When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse A hundred miles away. What would bechance at Lyonnesse While I should sojourn there No prophet durst declare, Nor did the wisest wizard guess What would bechance at Lyonnesse While I should sojourn there. When I came back from Lyonnesse With magic in my eyes, All marked with mute surmise My radiance rare and fathomless, When I came back from Lyonnesse With magic in my eyes! 1870 Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1611 |
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