Lewis Morris (Льюис Моррис)

Processions

To and fro, to and fro,
The long, long processions go,
Fainter now and now more bright,
Now in shadow, now in light ;
Gay and sad, and gay again,
Mixed of pleasure, mixed of pain.
Bridal song and burial dirge,
Rippling blue and leaden surge ;
Sunlit plain and storm-wrapt hill,
Saintly lives or stained with ill ;
Youth and fire and frolic mirth,
Cold age bending back to earth ;
Hope and faith and high endeavour,
Dead lives slowly waning ever ;
Gleams of varying sun and shade,
Buds that burst, and flowers that fade ;
Lives that spring, and lives that fall,
And a Hidden Will o'er all. 

1. Marching
2. At an Almshouse
3. Dear Little Hand
4. A Cynic's Day-Dream
5. Caged

William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт) Processions ("TO appease the gods, or public thanks to yield")

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