Alexander Smith (Александр Смит)

Inversnaid

LIKE clouds or streams we wandered on at will,
Three glorious days, till, near our journey’s end,
As down the moorland road we straight did wend,
To Wordsworth’s ‘Inversnaid,’ talking to kill
The cold and cheerless drizzle in the air,
’Bove me I saw, at pointing of my friend,
An old fort, like a ghost, upon the hill,
Stare in blank misery through the blinding rain,
So human-like it seemed in its despair,
So stunned with grief,—long gazed at it we twain.
Weary and damp we reached our poor abode;
I, warmly seated in the chimney-nook,
Still saw that old fort o’er the moorland road
Stare through the rain with strange woe-wildered look.

1. Joy Like a Stream Flows Through the Christmas-Streets
2. Beauty Still Walketh on the Earth and Air
3. There Have Been Vast Displays of Critic Wit
4. I Cannot Deem Why Men Toil So for Fame
5. I Wrote a Name upon the River Sands

Andrew Symington (Эндрю Симингтон) Inversnaid ("IN little boat we lie")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1876

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