Текст оригинала на английском языке
ADIEU, Rydalian laurels! that have grown And spread as if ye knew that days might come When ye would shelter in a happy home, On this fair mount, a poet of your own, One who ne’er ventured for a Delphic crown To sue the god; but, haunting your green shade All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship self-sown. Farewell! no minstrels now with harp new-strung For summer wandering quiet their household bowers; Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue To cheer the itinerant on whom she pours Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors Or, musing, sits forsaken halls among.
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