Уильям Вордсворт (William Wordsworth)

Beggars

   She had a tall Man's height, or more;
   No bonnet screened her from the heat;
   A long drab-coloured Cloak she wore,
   A Mantle reaching to her feet:
   What other dress she had I could not know;
Only she wore a Cap that was as white as snow.

   In all my walks, through field or town,
   Such Figure had I never seen:
   Her face was of Egyptian brown:
   Fit person was she for a Queen,
   To head those ancient Amazonian files:
Or ruling Bandit's Wife, among the Grecian Isles.

   Before me begging did she stand,
   Pouring out sorrows like a sea;
   Grief after grief:—on English Land
   Such woes I knew could never be;
   And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature
Was beautiful to see; "a Weed of glorious feature!"

   I left her, and pursued my way;
   And soon before me did espy
   A pair of little Boys at play,
   Chasing a crimson butterfly;
   The Taller followed with his hat in hand,
Wreathed round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land.

   The Other wore a rimless crown,
   With leaves of laurel stuck about:
   And they both followed up and down,
   Each whooping with a merry shout;
   Two Brothers seemed they, eight and ten years old;
And like that Woman's face as gold is like to gold.

   They bolted on me thus, and lo!
   Each ready with a plaintive whine;
   Said I, "Not half an hour ago
   Your Mother has had alms of mine."
   "That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead."
"Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."

   "She has been dead, Sir, many a day."
   "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie;
   "It was your Mother, as I say—"
   And in the twinkling of an eye,
   "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado,
Off to some other play they both together flew.