William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

* * *

Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green tufts of fragrant hay,
Caught by the hawthorns from the loaded wain,
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now, too, on melancholy's idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for through the thick wove trees
Scarce peeps the curious star till solemn gleams
The clouded moon, and calls me forth to stray
Thro' tall, green, silent woods and ruins gray. 

1. Inscription Intended for a Stone in the Grounds of Rydal Mount
2. The Kirk of Ulpha
3. The Stepping-Stones
4. Yarrow Unvisited
5. Mary Queen of Scots

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2763

Последние стихотворения

To English version