Robert Louis Stevenson (Роберт Льюис Стивенсон)
About the Sheltered Garden Ground
ABOUT the sheltered garden ground The trees stand strangely still. The vale ne'er seemed so deep before, Nor yet so high the hill. An awful sense of quietness, A fulness of repose, Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns, The silent garden rows. As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse Heard far across a plain, A nearer knowledge of great thoughts Thrills vaguely through my brain. I lean my head upon my arm, My heart's too full to think; Like the roar of seas, upon my heart Doth the morning stillness sink.
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