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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) First Sight of Her and After A day is drawing to its fall I had not dreamed to see; The first of many to enthrall My spirit, will it be? Or is this eve the end of all Such new delight for me? I journey home: the pattern grows Of moonshades on the way: ‘Soon the first quarter, I suppose,’ Sky-glancing travellers say; I realize that it, for those, Has been a common day. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1383 |
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