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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Rift (Song: Minor Mode) ’Twas just at gnat and cobweb-time, When yellow begins to show in the leaf, That your old gamut changed its chime From those true tones – of span so brief! – That met my beats of joy, of grief, As rhyme meets rhyme. So sank I from my high sublime! We faced but chancewise after that, And never I knew or guessed my crime. . . . Yes; ’twas the date – or nigh thereat – Of the yellowing leaf; at moth and gnat And cobweb-time. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1388 |
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