Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Head above the Fog
Something do I see Above the fog that sheets the mead, A figure like to life indeed, Moving along with spectre-speed, Seen by none but me. O the vision keen! – Tripping along to me for love As in the flesh it used to move, Only its hat and plume above The evening fog-fleece seen. In the day-fall wan, When nighted birds break off their song, Mere ghostly head it skims along, Just as it did when warm and strong, Body seeming gone. Such it is I see Above the fog that sheets the mead – Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! – Skimming along with spectre-speed To a last tryst with me.
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
938
