Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))

The Wound

I climbed to the crest,
And, fog-festooned,
The sun lay west
Like a crimson wound:

Like that wound of mine
Of which none knew,
For I’d given no sign
That it pierced me through.

1. There Seemed a Strangeness
2. Nobody Comes
3. The Sleep-Worker
4. Long Plighted
5. After the Fair

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