Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
While Drawing in a Churchyard
‘It is sad that so many of worth, Still in the flesh,’ soughed the yew, ‘Misjudge their lot whom kindly earth Secludes from view. ‘They ride their diurnal round Each day-span’s sum of hours In peerless ease, without jolt or bound Or ache like ours. ‘If the living could but hear What is heard by my roots as they creep Round the restful flock, and the things said there, No one would weep.’ ‘ “Now set among the wise,” They say: “Enlarged in scope, That no God trumpet us to rise We truly hope.” ’ I listened to his strange tale In the mood that stillness brings, And I grew to accept as the day wore pale That show of things.
Thomas Hardy’s other poems:
944
