Избранная лирика

                       Покончив с завтраком, сестра,
                       Мое желание исполни:
                       На солнце выбеги с утра
                       И о делах своих не помни.

                       Простое платьице надень
                       И не бери с собою чтенье.
                       Я так хочу, чтоб в этот день
                       Мы вдоволь насладились ленью.

                       Условностей привычный гнет
                       С себя мы сбросим, и сегодня
                       Мы новых дней начнем отсчет,
                       Как после даты новогодней.

                       Всему цветение суля,
                       От сердца к сердцу льнет украдкой
                       Любовь, — и влажная земля
                       Пронизана истомой сладкой.

                       Мгновенье может больше дать,
                       Чем полстолетья рассуждений.
                       Мы каждой клеткой благодать
                       Впитаем в этот день весенний.

                       Укладу новому храня
                       В сердцах своих повиновенье,
                       Весь год из нынешнего дня
                       Мы будем черпать вдохновенье.

                       И сила этого вокруг
                       Распространенного блаженства
                       Поможет нам с тобой, мой друг,
                       Достичь любви и совершенства.

                       Так поскорее же надень
                       Простое платьице и чтенья
                       В путь не бери — ведь в этот день
                       Мы будем наслаждаться ленью.

SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED

                     In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
                     Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
                     An old man dwells, a little man,
                     I've heard he once was tall.
                     Of years he has upon his back,
                     No doubt, a burthen weighty;
                     He says he is three score and ten,
                     But others say he's eighty.

                     A long blue liver-coat has he,
                     That's fair behind, and fair before;
                     Yet, meet him where you will, you see
                     At once that he is poor.
                     Full five and twenty years he lived
                     A running huntsman merry;
                     And, though he has but one eye left,
                     His cheek is like a cherry.

                     No man like him the horn could sound,
                     And no man was so full of glee;
                     To say the least, four counties round
                     Had heard of Simon Lee;
                     His master's dead, and no one now
                     Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
                     Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
                     He is the sole survivor.

                     His hunting feats have him bereft
                     Of his right eye, as you may see:
                     And then, what limbs those feats have left
                     To poor old Simon Lee!
                     He has no son, he has no child,
                     His wife, an aged woman,
                     Lives with him, near the waterfall,
                     Upon the village common.

                     And he is lean and he is sick,
                     His little body's half awry
                     His ancles they are swoln and thick
                     His legs are thin and dry.