Thomas Hardy

The Puzzled Game

They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young—they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
—If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young—they cannot be!
Otras obras de Thomas Hardy...



Arriba