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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Lament of the Looking-Glass Words from the mirror softly pass To the curtains with a sigh: ‘Why should I trouble again to glass These smileless things hard by, Since she I pleasured once, alas, Is now no longer nigh! ‘I’ve imaged shadows of coursing cloud, And of the plying limb On the pensive pine when the air is loud With its aerial hymn; But never do they make me proud To catch them within my rim! ‘I flash back phantoms of the night That sometimes flit by me, I echo roses red and white – The loveliest blooms that be – But now I never hold to sight So sweet a flower as she.’ Thomas Hardy's other poems:
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