The Complete Poetical Works. Томас Харди
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Название: The Complete Poetical Works

Автор: Томас Харди

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 9788027241361

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СКАЧАТЬ Were common beasts and rare,

       All kneeling at gaze, and in pause profound

       Attent on an object there.

      ’Twas the Pyx, unharmed ’mid the circling rows

       Of Blackmore’s hairy throng,

       Whereof were oxen, sheep, and does,

       And hares from the brakes among;

      And badgers grey, and conies keen,

       And squirrels of the tree,

       And many a member seldom seen

       Of Nature’s family.

      The ireful winds that scoured and swept

       Through coppice, clump, and dell,

       Within that holy circle slept

       Calm as in hermit’s cell.

      Then the priest bent likewise to the sod

       And thanked the Lord of Love,

       And Blessed Mary, Mother of God,

       And all the saints above.

      And turning straight with his priceless freight,

       He reached the dying one,

       Whose passing sprite had been stayed for the rite

       Without which bliss hath none.

      And when by grace the priest won place,

       And served the Abbey well,

       He reared this stone to mark where shone

       That midnight miracle.

      Tess’s Lament

       Table of Contents

      I

      I would that folk forgot me quite,

       Forgot me quite!

       I would that I could shrink from sight,

       And no more see the sun.

       Would it were time to say farewell,

       To claim my nook, to need my knell,

       Time for them all to stand and tell

       Of my day’s work as done.

      II

      Ah! dairy where I lived so long,

       I lived so long;

       Where I would rise up stanch and strong,

       And lie down hopefully.

       ’Twas there within the chimney-seat

       He watched me to the clock’s slow beat—

       Loved me, and learnt to call me sweet,

       And whispered words to me.

      III

      And now he’s gone; and now he’s gone; . . .

       And now he’s gone!

       The flowers we potted p’rhaps are thrown

       To rot upon the farm.

       And where we had our supper-fire

       May now grow nettle, dock, and briar,

       And all the place be mould and mire

       So cozy once and warm.

      IV

      And it was I who did it all,

       Who did it all;

       ’Twas I who made the blow to fall

       On him who thought no guile.

       Well, it is finished—past, and he

       Has left me to my misery,

       And I must take my Cross on me

       For wronging him awhile.

      V

      How gay we looked that day we wed,

       That day we wed!

       “May joy be with ye!” all o’m said

       A standing by the durn.

       I wonder what they say o’s now,

       And if they know my lot; and how

       She feels who milks my favourite cow,

       And takes my place at churn!

      VI

      It wears me out to think of it,

       To think of it;

       I cannot bear my fate as writ,

       I’d have my life unbe;

       Would turn my memory to a blot,

       Make every relic of me rot,

       My doings be as they were not,

       And what they’ve brought to me!

      The Supplanter

       A Tale

       Table of Contents

      I

      He bends his travel-tarnished feet

       To where she wastes in clay:

       From day-dawn until eve he fares

       Along the wintry way;

       From day-dawn until eve repairs

       Unto her mound to pray.

      II

      “Are these the gravestone shapes that meet

       My forward-straining view?

       Or forms that cross a window-blind

       In circle, knot, and queue:

       Gay forms, that cross and whirl and wind

СКАЧАТЬ