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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) She, I, and They I was sitting, She was knitting, And the portraits of our fore-folk hung around; When there struck on us a sigh; ‘Ah – what is that?’ said I: ‘Was it not you?’ said she. ‘A sigh did sound.’ I had not breathed it, Nor the night-wind heaved it, And how it came to us we could not guess; And we looked up at each face Framed and glazed there in its place, Still hearkening; but thenceforth was silentness. Half in dreaming, ‘Then its meaning,’ Said we, ‘must be surely this; that they repine That we should be the last Of stocks once unsurpassed, And unable to keep up their sturdy line.’ 1916 Thomas Hardy's other poems:
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