Paul Hamilton Hayne (Пол Гамильтон Хейн)
A Lyrical Picture
SEE! See! How the shadows steal along, Blending in a golden throng, Softly, lovingly; From each mossed and quaint tree-column, Stretched toward the dimpling river, How they quiver! While in low, pathetic tone Twilight's herald-breeze is blown Down the sunset solemn! Hear! hear! Dropped from gray mists, circling high, The sea-wending curlew's cry, Strangely wild and drear; Echoed by a voice that thrills us, From the murmurous verge of ocean-- Voice that fills us With a sense of mystery old, And vague memories which enfold Many a weird emotion. Turn! turn! From yon loftier cloud-land dun; Mark what splendors of the sun Westward throb and burn-- Burn as if some glorious angel Blessed the air and land and river With his mute evangel: All things own so rich a grace That in Heaven's divine embrace Earth seems clasped forever!
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