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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Something Tapped Something tapped on the pane of my room When there was never a trace Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom My weary Belovéd’s face. ‘O I am tired of waiting,’ she said, ‘Night, morn, noon, afternoon; So cold it is in my lonely bed, And I thought you would join me soon!’ I rose and neared the window-glass, But vanished thence had she: Only a pallid moth, alas, Tapped at the pane for me. August 1913 Thomas Hardy's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1709 |
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