The Sun On The Bookcase
Once more the cauldron of the sun
Smears the bookcase with winy red,
And here my page is, and there my bed,
And the apple-tree shadows travel along.
Soon their intangible track will be run,
And dusk grow strong
And they have fled.
Yes: now the boiling ball is gone,
And I have wasted another day….
But wasted-wasted, do I say?
Is it a waste to have imagined one
Beyond the hills there, who, anon,
My great deeds done,
Will be mine alway?
Thomas Hardy's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Sun On The Bookcase by Thomas Hardy )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- My Hill, Jack Meads
- i wore it out, Mandolyn Davidson
- do you love this?, Mandolyn Davidson
- Verbal Abuse Of Controlling People, Lilly Emery
- Into the rain, Tom Squires
- Come, Come... ~~~Rumi, LUVinThe NOW
- missing the exit, Mandolyn Davidson
- Retirement, Ruth Walters
- Abs to Heart, Lonnie Hicks
- Better New Days, Rinji Kwarkas