Читать книгу The Two Twilights - Henry A. Beers - Страница 5

I would not be

A voyager on the windy seas:

More sweet to me

This bank where crickets chirp, and bees

Buzz drowsy sunshine minstrelsies.

I would not bide

On lonely heights where shepherds dwell.

At twilight tide

The sounds that from the valley swell,

Soft breathing lute and herdsman's bell,

Are sweeter far

Than music of cold mountain rills.

The evening star

Wakes love and song below, but chills

With mist and breeze the gloomy hills.

I would not woo

Some storm-browed Juno, queenly fair.

Soft eyes of blue

And sudden blushes unaware

Do net my heart in silken snare.

I do not love

The eyrie, but low woodland nest

Of cushat dove:

Not wind, but calm; not toil, but rest

And sleep in grassy meadow's breast.