Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
An Experience
Wit, weight, or wealth there was not In anything that was said, In anything that was done; All was of scope to cause not A triumph, dazzle, or dread To even the subtlest one, My friend, To even the subtlest one. But there was a new afflation – An aura zephyring round That care infected not: It came as a salutation, And, in my sweet astound, I scarcely witted what Might pend, I scarcely witted what. The hills in samewise to me Spoke, as they grayly gazed, – First hills to speak so yet! The thin-edged breezes blew me What I, though cobwebbed, crazed, Was never to forget, My friend, Was never to forget!
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
916
