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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) At a Fashionable Dinner We sat with the banqueting-party By the table-end – Unmarked, – no diners out Were we: scarce a friend Of our own mind’s trend Was there, though the welcome was hearty. Then we noticed a shade extend By a distant screen, And I said: ‘What to you does it seem to mean, Lavine?’ ‘ – It is like my own body lying Beyond the door Where the servants glide in and about The carpeted floor; And it means my death hour! – ’ ‘ – What a fancy! Who feels like dying While these smart sallies pour, With laughter between! To me it is more like satin sheen, Lavine.’ ‘ – That means your new bride, when you win her: Yes, so it must be! It’s her satin dress, no doubt – That shine you see – My own corpse to me!’ And a gloom came over the dinner, Where almost strangers were we, As the spirit of the scene Forsook her – the fairest of the whole thirteen – Lavine! Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1333 |
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