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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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Time's Laughingstocks, and Other Verses
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Thither, by my tense brain at home aggrieved.
“Thereon his credence centred
Till he died;
And, no more tempted, entered
Sanctified,
The little vault with room for one beside.”
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
III
Thus far the lady’s story. —
Now she, too,
Reclines within that hoary
Last dark mew
In Mellstock Quire with him she loved so true.
A yellowing marble, placed there
Tablet-wise,
And two joined hearts enchased there
Meet the eyes;
And reading their twin names we moralize:
Did she, we wonder, follow
Jealously?
And were those protests hollow? —
Or saw he
Some semblant dame? Or can wraiths really be?
Were it she went, her honour,
All may hold,
Pressed truth at last upon her
Till she told —
(Him only – others as these lines unfold.)
Riddle death-sealed for ever,
Let it rest!.
One’s heart could blame her never
If one guessed
That go she did. She knew her actor best.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
UNREALIZED
Down comes the winter rain —
Spoils my hat and bow —
Runs into the poll of me;
But mother won’t know.
We’ve been out and caught a cold,
Knee-deep in snow;
Such a lucky thing it is
That mother won’t know!
Rosy lost herself last night —
Couldn’t tell where to go.
Yes – it rather frightened her,
But mother didn’t know.
Somebody made Willy drunk
At the Christmas show:
O ’twas fun! It’s well for him
That mother won’t know!
Howsoever wild we are,
Late at school or slow,
“Thereon his credence centred
Till he died;
And, no more tempted, entered
Sanctified,
The little vault with room for one beside.”
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
“Thwart thoughts I let deride me,
As, ’twere vain
To hope him back beside me
Ever again:
Could one plunge make a waxing passion wane?
III
Thus far the lady’s story. —
Now she, too,
Reclines within that hoary
Last dark mew
In Mellstock Quire with him she loved so true.
A yellowing marble, placed there
Tablet-wise,
And two joined hearts enchased there
Meet the eyes;
And reading their twin names we moralize:
Did she, we wonder, follow
Jealously?
And were those protests hollow? —
Or saw he
Some semblant dame? Or can wraiths really be?
Were it she went, her honour,
All may hold,
Pressed truth at last upon her
Till she told —
(Him only – others as these lines unfold.)
Riddle death-sealed for ever,
Let it rest!.
One’s heart could blame her never
If one guessed
That go she did. She knew her actor best.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
“Farewell he bade me, pleading
That it meant
So little, thus conceding
To his bent;
And then, as one constrained to go, he went.
UNREALIZED
Down comes the winter rain —
Spoils my hat and bow —
Runs into the poll of me;
But mother won’t know.
We’ve been out and caught a cold,
Knee-deep in snow;
Such a lucky thing it is
That mother won’t know!
Rosy lost herself last night —
Couldn’t tell where to go.
Yes – it rather frightened her,
But mother didn’t know.
Somebody made Willy drunk
At the Christmas show:
O ’twas fun! It’s well for him
That mother won’t know!
Howsoever wild we are,
Late at school or slow,
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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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