Читать книгу Evolution of Expression, Volume 2—Revised - Emerson Charles Wesley - Страница 9

Good by, proud world! I'm going home;

Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine.

Long through the weary crowds I roam,

A river-ark on the ocean brine.

Long I've been tossed like the driven foam

And now, proud world, I'm going home.

Good by to Flattery's fawning face;

To Grandeur, with his wise grimace;

To upstart Wealth's averted eye;

To supple Office, low and high;

To crowded halls, to court and street;

To frozen hearts and hasting feet;

To those who go and those who come;

Good by, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearthstone,

Bosomed in yon green hills alone —

A secret nook in a pleasant land,

Whose groves the frolic fairies planned, —

Where arches green, the livelong day,

Echo the blackbird's roundelay,

And vulgar feet have never trod, —

A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,

I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;

And when I am stretched beneath the pines

Where the evening star so holy shines,

I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,

At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;

For what are they all, in their high conceit,

When man in the bush with God may meet?