William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

* * *

   .....they are of the sky,
   And from our earthly memory fade away.

These words were uttered in a pensive mood,
Mine eyes yet lingering on that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily woo'd!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable, and deserts me quite:
Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.

1. Degenerate Douglas
2. To Sleep (Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!)
3. The Fairest, Brightest Hues of Ether Fade
4. Even as a Dragon's Eye That Feels the Stress
5. Composed after a Journey across the Hamilton Hills, Yorkshire

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