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
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Comments about this poem (The Sun On The Bookcase by Thomas Hardy )
Did you read them?
- if i were a day, i'd say, Mandolyn ...
- In bed, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- The real moments of truth anytime لحظات .., MOHAMMAD SKATI
- to the one who reads me every day on pur.., Mandolyn ...
- to the one who reads me every day, on ac.., Mandolyn ...
- WE POOR VICTIMs, Enoch Owusu Gyamfi
- Weekend thrill., Harold R Hunt Sr
- Just Before Dawn, Tosin Abegunde
- School., Harold R Hunt Sr
- One's greed leads to one's ugly and gree.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
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