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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Voice of Things Forty Augusts – aye, and several more – ago, When I paced the headlands loosed from dull employ, The waves huzza’d like a multitude below In the sway of an all-including joy Without cloy. Blankly I walked there a double decade after, When thwarts had flung their toils in front of me, And I heard the waters wagging in a long ironic laughter At the lot of men, and all the vapoury Things that be. Wheeling change has set me again standing where Once I heard the waves huzza at Lammas-tide; But they supplicate now – like a congregation there Who murmur the Confession – I outside, Prayer denied. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1378 |
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