Читать книгу Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces - Thomas Hardy, Eleanor Bron, Томас Харди (Гарди) - Страница 14

I play my sweet old airs —

   The airs he knew

   When our love was true —

   But he does not balk

   His determined walk,

And passes up the stairs.

I sing my songs once more,

   And presently hear

   His footstep near

   As if it would stay;

   But he goes his way,

And shuts a distant door.

So I wait for another morn

   And another night

   In this soul-sick blight;

   And I wonder much

   As I sit, why such

A woman as I was born!