Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Dissemblers
‘It was not you I came to please, Only myself,’ flipped she; ‘I like this spot of phantasies, And thought you far from me.’ But O, he was the secret spell That led her to the lea! ‘It was not she who shaped my ways, Or works, or thoughts,’ he said. ‘I scarcely marked her living days, Or missed her much when dead.’ But O, his joyance knew its knell When daisies hid her head!
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
919