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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Whipper-In ‘My father was the whipper-in, – Is still – if I’m not misled? And now I see, where the hedge is thin, A little spot of red; Surely it is my father Going to the kennel-shed! ‘I cursed and fought my father – aye, And sailed to a foreign land; And feeling sorry, I’m back, to stay, Please God, as his helping hand. Surely it is my father Near where the kennels stand?’ ‘ – True. Whipper-in he used to be For twenty years or more; And you did go away to sea As youths have done before. Yes, oddly enough that red there Is the very coat he wore. ‘But he – he’s dead; was thrown somehow, And gave his back a crick, And though that is his coat, ’tis now The scarecrow of a rick; You’ll see when you get nearer – ’Tis spread out on a stick. ‘You see, when all had settled down Your mother’s things were sold, And she went back to her own town, And the coat, ate out with mould, Is now used by the farmer For scaring, as ’tis old.’ Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1358 |
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