William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

At Bala-sala, Isle of Man

     Supposed to Be Written by a Friend

BROKEN in fortune, but in mind entire
And sound in principle, I seek repose
Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose,
In ruin beautiful. When vain desire
Intrudes on peace, I pray the Eternal Sire  
To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,
A gray-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;
A shade,—but with some sparks of heavenly fire
Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note
The old Tower’s brow yellowed as with the beams	
Of sunset ever there, albeit streams
Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,
I thank the silent monitor, and say,
“Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!”

1. Rural Architecture
2. Ellen Irwin, Or the Braes of Kirtle
3. Written in Very Early Youth
4. To B. R. Haydon
5. To the Memory of Raisley Calvert

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2151

Последние стихотворения

To English version