Джеймс Расселл Лоуэлл (James Russell Lowell)

Sonnet

  If some small savor creep into my rhyme
  Of the old poets, if some words I use,
  Neglected long, which have the lusty thews
  Of that gold-haired and earnest-hearted time,
  Whose loving joy and sorrow all sublime
  Have given our tongue its starry eminence,--
  It is not pride, God knows, but reverence
  Which hath grown in me since my childhood's prime;
  Wherein I feel that my poor lyre is strung
  With soul-strings like to theirs, and that I have
  No right to muse their holy graves among,
  If I can be a custom-fettered slave,
  And, in mine own true spirit, am not brave
  To speak what rusheth upward to my tongue.

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