Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
Four in the Morning
At four this day of June I rise: The dawn-light strengthens steadily; Earth is a cerule mystery, As if not far from Paradise At four o’clock, Or else near the Great Nebula, Or where the Pleiads blink and smile: (For though we see with eyes of guile The grisly grin of things by day, At four o’clock They show their best.)... In this vale’s space I am up the first, I think. Yet, no, A whistling? and the to-and-fro Wheezed whettings of a scythe apace At four o’clock?... – Though pleasure spurred, I rose with irk: Here is one at compulsion’s whip Taking his life’s stern stewardship With blithe uncare, and hard at work At four o’clock! Bockhampton
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
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