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Poems
Angleščina
8 b
Good-bye, proud world! Im going home:Thou art not my friend, and Im not thine.Long through thy weary crowds I roam;A river-ark on the ocean brine,Long Ive been tossed like the driven foam:But now, proud world! Im going home.Good-bye to Flatterys fawning face;To Grandeur with his wise grimace;To upstart Wealths averted eye;To supple Office, low and high;To crowded halls, to court and street;To frozen hearts and hasting feet;To those who go, and those who come;Good-bye, proud world! Im going home.I am going to my own hearth-stone,Bosomed in yon green hills alone,secret nook in a pleasant land,Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;Where arches green, the livelong day,Echo the blackbirds roundelay,And vulgar feet have never trodA spot that is sacred to thought and God.
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Angleščina
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