Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Love-Letters
(In Memoriam H.R.) I met him quite by accident In a bye-path that he’d frequent. And, as he neared, the sunset glow Warmed up the smile of pleasantry Upon his too thin face, while he Held a square packet up to me, Of what, I did not know. ‘Well,’ said he then; ‘they are my old letters. Perhaps she – rather felt them fetters. . . . You see, I am in a slow decline, And she’s broken off with me. Quite right To send them back, and true foresight; I’d got too fond of her! To-night I burn them – stuff of mine!’ He laughed in the sun – an ache in his laughter – And went. I heard of his death soon after.
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