Читать книгу Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2 - William Wordsworth - Страница 9

  "Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,

  Exclaim'd a thundering Voice,

  Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self

  Between me and my choice!"

  A falling Water swoln with snows

  Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose,

  That all bespatter'd with his foam,

  And dancing high, and dancing low,

  Was living, as a child might know,

  In an unhappy home.

  "Dost thou presume my course to block?

  Off, off! or, puny Thing!

  I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

  To which thy fibres cling."

  The Flood was tyrannous and strong;

  The patient Briar suffer'd long,

  Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

  Hoping the danger would be pass'd:

  But seeing no relief, at last

  He venture'd to reply.

  "Ah!" said the Briar, "Blame me not!

  Why should we dwell in strife?

  We who in this, our natal spot,

  Once liv'd a happy life!