William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

* * *

Brook! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious Painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks;
If wish were mine some type of thee to view,
Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do
Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
Channels for tears; no Naiad should'st thou be,—
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs:
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,
And hath bestowed on thee a safer good;
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

1. To the Memory of Raisley Calvert
2. Rural Architecture
3. The Sparrow's Nest
4. Ellen Irwin, Or the Braes of Kirtle
5. How Sweet It Is, When Mother Fancy Rocks

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1710

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