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Слушать(AI)The Cave Of The Unborn
I rose at night and
The Cave of the Unborn,
And crowding shapes surrounded
For tidings of the life to be,
Who long had prayed the silent
To speed their advent morn.
Their eyes were lit with artless trust;
Hope thrilled their every tone:"A place the loveliest, is it not?
A pure delight, a
Where all is gentle, pure and
And ??violence?? is unknown?"My heart was anguished for their sake;
I could not frame a word;
But they descried my sunken
And seemed to read therein, and
The news which Pity would not
Nor Truth leave unaverred.
And as I silently retiredI turned and watched them still:
And they came helter-skelter out,
Driven forward like a rabble
Into the world they had so desired,
By the all-immanent Will.
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy OM (2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928) was an English novelist and poet. A Victorian realist in the tradition of George Eliot, he was i
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