Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

On a Midsummer Eve

I idly cut a parsley stalk,
And blew therein towards the moon;
I had not thought what ghosts would walk
With shivering footsteps to my tune.

I went, and knelt, and scooped my hand
As if to drink, into the brook,
And a faint figure seemed to stand
Above me, with the bygone look.

I lipped rough rhymes of chance, not choice,
I thought not what my words might be;
There came into my ear a voice
That turned a tenderer verse for me.

1. Afternoon Service at Mellstock
2. Sitting on the Bridge
3. The Collector Cleans His Picture
4. The Children and Sir Nameless
5. The Three Tall Men

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