Читать книгу English Verse - Raymond Macdonald Alden - Страница 57

O Lord, that rul'st our mortal line,

How through the world Thy name doth shine;

Thou hast of Thy unmatched glory

Upon the heavens engrav'd Thy story.

(Sir Philip Sidney: Psalm viii. ab. 1580.)

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,

And the young winds fed it with silver dew,

And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,

And closed them beneath the kisses of night.

(Shelley: The Sensitive Plant. 1820.)