Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Lady of Forebodings
‘What do you so regret, my lady, Sitting beside me here? Are there not days as clear As this to come – ev’n shaped less shady?’ ‘O no,’ said she. ‘Come what delight To you, by voice or pen, To me will fall such day, such night, Not, not again!’ The lamps above and round were fair, The tables were aglee, As if ’twould ever be That we should smile and sit on there. But yet she said, as though she must, ‘Yes: it will soon be gone, And all its dearness leave but dust To muse upon.’
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