Читать книгу Selections from Poe - Эдгар Аллан По, Edgar Allan Poe, Marta Fihel - Страница 9

Romance, who loves to nod and sing

With drowsy head and folded wing

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been – a most familiar bird —

Taught me my alphabet to say,

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild-wood I did lie,

A child – with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal condor years

So shake the very heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky;

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings,

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away – forbidden things —

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.