Читать книгу Moments of Vision and Miscellaneous Verses - Thomas Hardy, Eleanor Bron, Томас Харди (Гарди) - Страница 26

How was this I did not see

Such a look as here was shown

Ere its womanhood had blown

Past its first felicity? —

That I did not know you young,

   Faded Face,

      Know you young!

Why did Time so ill bestead

That I heard no voice of yours

Hail from out the curved contours

Of those lips when rosy red;

Weeted not the songs they sung,

   Faded Face,

      Songs they sung!

By these blanchings, blooms of old,

And the relics of your voice —

Leavings rare of rich and choice

From your early tone and mould —

Let me mourn, – aye, sorrow-wrung,

   Faded Face,

      Sorrow-wrung!