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Lays and Legends (Second Series)
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LOVE SONG
Light of my life! though far away,
My sun, you shine,
Your radiance warms me every day
Like fire or wine.
Life of my heart! in every beat
This sad heart gives,
It owns your sovereignty complete,
By which it lives.
Heart of my soul! serene and strong,
Eyes of my sight!
Together we can do no wrong,
Apart, no right.
THE QUARREL
Come down, my dear, from this high, wind-swept hill,
Where the wild plovers scream against the sky;
Down in the valley everything is still —
We also will be silent, you and I.
Come down, and hold my hand as we go down.
A gleam of sun has dyed the west afar;
The lights come out down in the little town,
'Neath the first glimmer of the evening star.
Did my heart forge the bitter words I said?
Did your heart breed those bitterer replies —
Spoken with plovers wheeling overhead
In the gray pallor of the cheerless skies?
Is it worth while to quarrel and upbraid,
Life being so little and love so great a thing?
The price of all life's follies has been paid
When we, true lovers, fall to quarrelling.
Here is the churchyard; swing the gate and pass
Where the sharp needles of the pines are shed.
Tread here between the mounds of flowered grass;
Tread softly over these forgotten dead.
We are alive, and here – O love! O wife!
While life is ours, and we are yours and mine,
How dare we crush the blossom of our life?
How dare we spill love's sacramental wine?
Kiss me! Forget! We two are living now,
And life is all too short for love, my dear.
When one of us beneath these flowers lies low,
The other will remember we kissed here.
Some one some day will come here all alone
And look out on the desolated years,
With bitter tears of longing for the one
Who will not then be here to dry the tears!
CHANGE
There's a little house by an orchard side
Where the Spring wears pink and white;
There's a garden with pansies and London pride,
And a bush of lad's delight.
Through the sweet-briar hedge is the garden seen
As trim as a garden can be,
And the grass of the orchard is much more green
Than most of the grass you see.
There used to be always a mother's smile
And a father's face at the door,
When one clambered over the orchard stile,
So glad to be home once more.
But now I never go by that way,
For when I was there of late,
A stranger was cutting the orchard hay,
And a stranger leaned on the gate.
THE MILL
The wheel goes round – the wheel goes round
With drip and whir and plash,
It keeps all green the grassy ground,
The alder, beech and ash.
The ferns creep out 'mid mosses cool,
Forget-me-nots are found
Blue in the shadow by the pool —
And still the wheel goes round.
Round goes the wheel, round goes the wheel,
The foam is white like cream,
The merry waters dance and reel
Along the stony stream.
The little garden of the mill,
It is enchanted ground,
I smell its stocks and wall-flowers still,
And still the wheel goes round.
The wheel goes round, the wheel goes round,
Light of my life! though far away,
My sun, you shine,
Your radiance warms me every day
Like fire or wine.
Life of my heart! in every beat
This sad heart gives,
It owns your sovereignty complete,
By which it lives.
Heart of my soul! serene and strong,
Eyes of my sight!
Together we can do no wrong,
Apart, no right.
THE QUARREL
Come down, my dear, from this high, wind-swept hill,
Where the wild plovers scream against the sky;
Down in the valley everything is still —
We also will be silent, you and I.
Come down, and hold my hand as we go down.
A gleam of sun has dyed the west afar;
The lights come out down in the little town,
'Neath the first glimmer of the evening star.
Did my heart forge the bitter words I said?
Did your heart breed those bitterer replies —
Spoken with plovers wheeling overhead
In the gray pallor of the cheerless skies?
Is it worth while to quarrel and upbraid,
Life being so little and love so great a thing?
The price of all life's follies has been paid
When we, true lovers, fall to quarrelling.
Here is the churchyard; swing the gate and pass
Where the sharp needles of the pines are shed.
Tread here between the mounds of flowered grass;
Tread softly over these forgotten dead.
We are alive, and here – O love! O wife!
While life is ours, and we are yours and mine,
How dare we crush the blossom of our life?
How dare we spill love's sacramental wine?
Kiss me! Forget! We two are living now,
And life is all too short for love, my dear.
When one of us beneath these flowers lies low,
The other will remember we kissed here.
Some one some day will come here all alone
And look out on the desolated years,
With bitter tears of longing for the one
Who will not then be here to dry the tears!
CHANGE
There's a little house by an orchard side
Where the Spring wears pink and white;
There's a garden with pansies and London pride,
And a bush of lad's delight.
Through the sweet-briar hedge is the garden seen
As trim as a garden can be,
And the grass of the orchard is much more green
Than most of the grass you see.
There used to be always a mother's smile
And a father's face at the door,
When one clambered over the orchard stile,
So glad to be home once more.
But now I never go by that way,
For when I was there of late,
A stranger was cutting the orchard hay,
And a stranger leaned on the gate.
THE MILL
The wheel goes round – the wheel goes round
With drip and whir and plash,
It keeps all green the grassy ground,
The alder, beech and ash.
The ferns creep out 'mid mosses cool,
Forget-me-nots are found
Blue in the shadow by the pool —
And still the wheel goes round.
Round goes the wheel, round goes the wheel,
The foam is white like cream,
The merry waters dance and reel
Along the stony stream.
The little garden of the mill,
It is enchanted ground,
I smell its stocks and wall-flowers still,
And still the wheel goes round.
The wheel goes round, the wheel goes round,
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Последний отзыв
Информатика. 4 класс
3.33
3.33
интересный учебник