Читать книгу Moments of Vision and Miscellaneous Verses - Thomas Hardy, Eleanor Bron, Томас Харди (Гарди) - Страница 13

   You were the sort that men forget;

      Though I – not yet! —

Perhaps not ever.  Your slighted weakness

   Adds to the strength of my regret!

   You’d not the art – you never had

      For good or bad —

To make men see how sweet your meaning,

   Which, visible, had charmed them glad.

   You would, by words inept let fall,

      Offend them all,

Even if they saw your warm devotion

   Would hold your life’s blood at their call.

   You lacked the eye to understand

      Those friends offhand

Whose mode was crude, though whose dim purport

   Outpriced the courtesies of the bland.

   I am now the only being who

      Remembers you

It may be.  What a waste that Nature

   Grudged soul so dear the art its due!