Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 458

To strange conceits oft I myself must own,

But impulse such as this I ne'er have known

Nor woods, nor fields, can long our thoughts engage;

Their wings I envy not the feather'd kind;

Far otherwise the pleasures of the mind

Bear us from book to book, from page to page I

Then winter nights grow cheerful; keen delight

Warms every limb; and ah! when we unroll

Some old and precious parchment, at the sight

All heaven itself descends upon the soul.