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Слушать(AI)Retirement
O, let me be alone a while,
No human form is nigh.
And may I sing and muse aloud,
No mortal ear is by.
Away! ye dreams of earthly bliss,
Ye earthly cares begone:
Depart! ye restless wandering thoughts,
And let me be alone!
One hour, my spirit, stretch thy wings,
And quit this joyless sod,
Bask in the sunshine of the sky,
And be alone with God!
Anne Bronte
Anne Brontë (17 January 1820 – 28 May 1849) was an English novelist and poet, the youngest member of the Brontë literary family.
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Lines Written From Home
Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, And cold the wind that wanders With wild and melancholy moan;
The Arbour
I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, And look upon the clear blue That smiles upon me through the trees, Which stand so thickly clustering by;
Despondency
I have gone backward in the work, The labour has not sped, Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, Heavy and dull as lead How can I rouse my sinking soul From such a lethargy How can I break these iron chains, And set my spirit free...
The Captive Dove
Poor restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity,
