Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

Lost Love

I play my sweet old airs –
The airs he knew
When our love was true –
But he does not balk
His determined walk,
And passes up the stairs.

I sing my songs once more,
And presently hear
His footstep near
As if it would stay;
But he goes his way,
And shuts a distant door.

So I wait for another morn,
And another night
In this soul-sick blight;
And I wonder much
As I sit, why such
A woman as I was born!

1. Zermatt: To the Matterhorn
2. The Wedding Morning
3. O I Won’t Lead a Homely Life
4. A Woman Driving
5. Rake-Hell Muses

Edward Sill (Эдвард Силл) Lost Love ("BURY it, and sift")

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1632

Последние стихотворения

To English version