Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
Just the Same
I sat. It all was past; Hope never would hail again; Fair days had ceased at a blast, The world was a darkened den. The beauty and dream were gone, And the halo in which I had hied So gaily gallantly on Had suffered blot and died! I went forth, heedless whither, In a cloud too black for name: – People frisked hither and thither; The world was just the same.
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
939