Artran
Watchdog
@magerette: I know poems by T. Hardy (some of them I have tried to translate to czech some years ago - question is whether it was good...), but I've read none of his novels. It was quite disaster when he lost his wife. His later works are jotted by his sad fate. But when he was eighty years old or so he wrote this beautiful poem:
Song to Aurore
We’ll not begin again to love,
It only leads to pain;
The fire we now are master of
Has seared us not in vain.
Any new step of yours I'm fain
To hear of from afar,
And even in such may find a gain
While lodged not where you are.
No: that must not be done anew
Which has been done before;
I scarce could bear to seek, or view,
Or clasp you any more!
Life is a labour, death is sore,
And lonely living wrings;
But go your courses, sweet Aurore,
Kisses are caresome things!
It's one of the most sorrowful poems I've ever read.
Song to Aurore
We’ll not begin again to love,
It only leads to pain;
The fire we now are master of
Has seared us not in vain.
Any new step of yours I'm fain
To hear of from afar,
And even in such may find a gain
While lodged not where you are.
No: that must not be done anew
Which has been done before;
I scarce could bear to seek, or view,
Or clasp you any more!
Life is a labour, death is sore,
And lonely living wrings;
But go your courses, sweet Aurore,
Kisses are caresome things!
It's one of the most sorrowful poems I've ever read.