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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) A Leader of Fashion Never has she known The way a robin will skip and come, With an eye half bold, half timorsome, To the table’s edge for a breakfast crumb: Nor has she seen A streak of roseate gently drawn Across the east, that means the dawn, When, up and out, she foots it on: Nor has she heard The rustle of the sparrow’s tread To roost in roof-holes near her head When dusk bids her, too, seek her bed: Nor has she watched Amid a stormy eve’s turmoil The pipkin slowly come to boil, In readiness for one at toil: Nor has she hearkened Through the long night-time, lone and numb, For sounds of sent-for help to come Ere the swift-sinking life succumb: Nor has she ever Held the loved-lost one on her arm, Attired with care his straightened form, As if he were alive and warm: Yea, never has she Known, seen, heard, felt, such things as these, Haps of so many in their degrees Throughout their count of calvaries! Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1424 |
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