|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) In the Study He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there, A type of decayed gentility; And by some small signs he well can guess That she comes to him almost breakfastless. ‘I have called – I hope I do not err – I am looking for a purchaser Of some score volumes of the works Of eminent divines I own, – Left by my father – though it irks My patience to offer them.’ And she smiles As if necessity were unknown; ‘But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles I have wished, as I am fond of art, To make my rooms a little smart, And these old books are so in the way.’ And lightly still she laughs to him, As if to sell were a mere gay whim, And that, to be frank, Life were indeed To her not vinegar and gall, But fresh and honey-like; and Need No household skeleton at all. Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1344 |
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |