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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) At the Word ‘Farewell’ She looked like a bird from a cloud On the clammy lawn, Moving alone, bare-browed In the dim of dawn. The candles alight in the room For my parting meal Made all things withoutdoors loom Strange, ghostly, unreal. The hour itself was a ghost, And it seemed to me then As of chances the chance furthermost I should see her again. I beheld not where all was so fleet That a Plan of the past Which had ruled us from birthtime to meet Was in working at last: No prelude did I there perceive To a drama at all, Or foreshadow what fortune might weave From beginnings so small; But I rose as if quicked by a spur I was bound to obey, And stepped through the casement to her Still alone in the gray. ‘I am leaving you. . . . Farewell!’ I said, As I followed her on By an alley bare boughs overspread; ‘I soon must be gone!’ Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1310 |
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