William Blake
John Keats
John Clare
William Wordsworth
Robert Burns
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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John Keats
John Clare
William Wordsworth
Robert Burns
Percy Bysshe Shelley
London
I wander thro' each charter'd street.
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe,
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hears
When I Have Fears the I May Cease to Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
Но как же мне его хранить,
Когда с тобой мы рядом?
Но как же мне его хранить,
С тобой встречаясь взглядом?
На свете счастлив тот бедняк
С его простой любовью,
Кто не завидует никак
Богатому сословью.
Ах, почему жестокий рок –
Всегда любви помеха
И не цветет любви цветок
Без славы и успеха?