Читать книгу Poems - Fanny Kemble - Страница 19

Oh! that I were a fairy sprite, to wander

In forest paths, o’erarched with oak and beech;

Where the sun’s yellow light, in slanting rays,

Sleeps on the dewy moss: what time the breath

Of early morn stirs the white hawthorn boughs,

And fills the air with showers of snowy blossoms.

Or lie at sunset ’mid the purple heather,

Listening the silver music that rings out

From the pale mountain bells, swayed by the wind.

Or sit in rocky clefts above the sea,

While one by one the evening stars shine forth

Among the gathering clouds, that strew the heavens

Like floating purple wreaths of mournful nightshade!