William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

* * *

YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound!

Unsolicited reply
To a babbling wanderer sent;
Like her ordinary cry,
Like--but oh, how different!

Hears not also mortal Life?
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures!
Slaves of folly, love, or strife--
Voices of two different natures?

Have not 'we' too?--yes, we have
Answers, and we know not whence;
Echoes from beyond the grave,
Recognised intelligence!

Such rebounds our inward ear
Catches sometimes from afar--
Listen, ponder, hold them dear;
For of God,--of God they are. 

1. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm
2. Inside of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge: The Same
3. Canute
4. Chatsworth
5. Iona

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2740

Последние стихотворения

To English version