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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Wind Blew Words The wind blew words along the skies, And these it blew to me Through the wide dusk: ‘Lift up your eyes, Behold this troubled tree, Complaining as it sways and plies; It is a limb of thee. ‘Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round – Dumb figures, wild and tame, Yea, too, thy fellows who abound – Either of speech the same Or far and strange – black, dwarfed, and browned, They are stuff of thy own frame.’ I moved on in a surging awe Of inarticulateness At the pathetic Me I saw In all his huge distress, Making self-slaughter of the law To kill, break, or suppress. Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1810 |
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