او از بخت خوش خود می هراسد

he fears his good fourtune

there was a glorious time

at an epoch of my prime;

mornings beryl-bespread,

and evening golden-red;

nothing gray:

and in my heart i said,

however this chanced to be,

it is too full for me,

too rare,too rapturous, rash,

its spell must close with a crash

some day!



the radiance went on

anon and yet anon,

and sweetness fell around

like manna on the ground.

i've no claim,

said i, to be thus crowned:

i am not worthy this:

must it not go amiss?

well... let the end foreseen

come duly! i am serene.

and it came.

_Thomas hardy_