Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
Reluctant Confession
‘What did you do? Cannot you let me know?’ ‘Don’t ask! . . .’Twas midnight, and I’d lost at cards.’ ‘Ah. Was it crime – or seemed it to be so?’ ‘No – not till afterwards.’ ‘But what, then, did you do?’ ‘Well – that was the beginning – months ago; You see, I had lost, and could not pay but – so. And there flashed from him strange and strong regards That you only see when scruples smash to shards; And thus it happened – O it rained and blew! – But I can’t tell. ’Twas all so lurid in hue! And what was worst came after, when I knew What first crossed not my mind, And he has never divined!’ . . . ‘But he must have, if he proposed it you?’ ‘I mean, that – I got rid of what resulted In a way a woman told me I consulted: ’Tis that he does not know; Great God, it harrows me so! I did not mean to. Every night – In hell-dark dreams I see an appealing figure in white – That somehow seems A newborn child in the clothes I set to make, But left off, for my own depraved name’s sake!’
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
