William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

To the Memory of Raisley Calvert

CALVERT! it must not be unheard by them
Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem--
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray
Where'er I liked; and finally array
My temples with the Muse's diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth;
If there be aught of pure, or good, or great,             
In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays
Of higher mood, which now I meditate;--
It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived, Youth!
To think how much of this will be thy praise.

1. Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart
2. Stanzas Written in My Pocket Copy of Thomson’s “Castle of Indolence”
3. Alice Fell, or Poverty
4. Resolution and Independence
5. To B. R. Haydon

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