Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Little Old Table

Creak, little wood thing, creak,
When I touch you with elbow or knee;
That is the way you speak
Of one who gave you to me!

You, little table, she brought –
Brought me with her own hand,
As she looked at me with a thought
That I did not understand.

– Whoever owns it anon,
And hears it, will never know
What a history hangs upon
This creak from long ago.

1. The Aërolite
2. Genitrix Laesa
3. Song from Heine
4. Timing Her
5. Life and Death at Sunrise

Print

1393 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version