По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
Where the isles of the Southland lie.
I see him again at his dwelling,
Where, over the little lake,
The rose-trees droop in their beauty
To meet the image they make.
Though years have whitened his temples,
His eyes have the first look still,
Save a shade of settled sadness,
A forecast of coming ill.
For in that pleasant dwelling,
On the rack of ceaseless pain,
Lies she who smiled so sweetly,
And prays for ease in vain.
And I know that his heart is breaking,
When, over those dear eyes,
The darkness slowly gathers,
And the loved and loving dies.
A grave is scooped on the hillside
Where often, at eve or morn,
He lays the blooms of the garden —
He, and his youngest born.
And well I know that a brightness
From his life has passed away,
And a smile from the green earth's beauty,
And a glory from the day.
But I behold, above him,
In the far blue deeps of air,
Dim battlements shining faintly,
And a throng of faces there;
See over crystal barrier
The airy figures bend,
Like those who are watching and waiting
The coming of a friend.
And one there is among them,
With a star upon her brow,
In her life a lovely woman,
A sinless seraph now.
I know the sweet calm features;
The peerless smile I know,
And I stretch my arms with transport
From where I stand below.
And the quick tears drown my eyelids,
But the airy figures fade,
And the shining battlements darken
And blend with the evening shade.
I am gazing into the twilight
Where the dim-seen meadows lie,
And the wind of night is swaying
The trees with a heavy sigh.
THE TWO TRAVELLERS
'Twas evening, and before my eyes
There lay a landscape gray and dim —
Fields faintly seen and twilight skies,
And clouds that hid the horizon's brim.
I saw – or was it that I dreamed?
A waking dream? – I cannot say,
For every shape as real seemed
As those which meet my eyes to-day.
Through leafless shrubs the cold wind hissed;
The air was thick with falling snow,
And onward, through the frozen mist,
I saw a weary traveller go.
Driven o'er the landscape, bare and bleak,
Before the whirling gusts of air,
The snow-flakes smote his withered cheek,
And gathered on his silver hair.
Yet on he fared through blinding snows,
And murmuring to himself he said:
"The night is near; the darkness grows,
And higher rise the drifts I tread.
"Deep, deep, each autumn flower they hide;
Each tuft of green they whelm from sight;
And they who journeyed by my side,
Are lost in the surrounding night.
"I loved them; oh, no words can tell
The love that to my friends I bore;
They left me with the sad farewell
Of those who part to meet no more.
"And I, who face this bitter wind
I see him again at his dwelling,
Where, over the little lake,
The rose-trees droop in their beauty
To meet the image they make.
Though years have whitened his temples,
His eyes have the first look still,
Save a shade of settled sadness,
A forecast of coming ill.
For in that pleasant dwelling,
On the rack of ceaseless pain,
Lies she who smiled so sweetly,
And prays for ease in vain.
And I know that his heart is breaking,
When, over those dear eyes,
The darkness slowly gathers,
And the loved and loving dies.
A grave is scooped on the hillside
Where often, at eve or morn,
He lays the blooms of the garden —
He, and his youngest born.
And well I know that a brightness
From his life has passed away,
And a smile from the green earth's beauty,
And a glory from the day.
But I behold, above him,
In the far blue deeps of air,
Dim battlements shining faintly,
And a throng of faces there;
See over crystal barrier
The airy figures bend,
Like those who are watching and waiting
The coming of a friend.
And one there is among them,
With a star upon her brow,
In her life a lovely woman,
A sinless seraph now.
I know the sweet calm features;
The peerless smile I know,
And I stretch my arms with transport
From where I stand below.
And the quick tears drown my eyelids,
But the airy figures fade,
And the shining battlements darken
And blend with the evening shade.
I am gazing into the twilight
Where the dim-seen meadows lie,
And the wind of night is swaying
The trees with a heavy sigh.
THE TWO TRAVELLERS
'Twas evening, and before my eyes
There lay a landscape gray and dim —
Fields faintly seen and twilight skies,
And clouds that hid the horizon's brim.
I saw – or was it that I dreamed?
A waking dream? – I cannot say,
For every shape as real seemed
As those which meet my eyes to-day.
Through leafless shrubs the cold wind hissed;
The air was thick with falling snow,
And onward, through the frozen mist,
I saw a weary traveller go.
Driven o'er the landscape, bare and bleak,
Before the whirling gusts of air,
The snow-flakes smote his withered cheek,
And gathered on his silver hair.
Yet on he fared through blinding snows,
And murmuring to himself he said:
"The night is near; the darkness grows,
And higher rise the drifts I tread.
"Deep, deep, each autumn flower they hide;
Each tuft of green they whelm from sight;
And they who journeyed by my side,
Are lost in the surrounding night.
"I loved them; oh, no words can tell
The love that to my friends I bore;
They left me with the sad farewell
Of those who part to meet no more.
"And I, who face this bitter wind
Последний отзыв
книга нужная