Текст оригинала на английском языке
'T IS Pleasant, indeed, As the letters read On the guideboard at the crossing. Over the street The branches meet, Gently swaying and tossing. Through its leafy crown The sun strikes down In wavering flakes and flashes, As winding it goes Betwixt tall rows Of maples and elms and ashes. There, high aloof In the gilded roof, Are the phœbe and vireo winging Their fitful flight In the flickering light; The hangbird's basket swinging. By many a great And small estate, And orchard cool and pleasant, And croquet-ground, The way sweeps round, In many a curve and crescent. In crescents and curves It sways and swerves, Like the flow of a stately river. On carriage and span, On maiden and man, The dappling sunbeams quiver. It winds between Broad slopes of the green Wood-mantled and shaggy highland, And shores that rise From the lake, which lies Below, with its one fair island. The long days dawn Over lake and lawn, And set on the hills; and at even Above it beam All the lights that gleam In the starry streets of heaven. But not for these, Lake, lawns and trees, And gardens gay in their season,— Its praise I sing For a sweeter thing, And a far more human reason. Children I meet In house and street, Pretty maids and happy mothers, All fair to see; But one to me More beautiful than all others! One whose pure face, With its glancing grace, Makes every one her lover; Charming the sight With a sweeter light Than falls from the boughs above her. Though on each side Are the homes of pride, And of beauty,—here and there one,— The dearest of all, Though simple and small, Is the dwelling of my fair one. You will marvel that such A gay sprite so much Of a grave man's life engages, And smile when I Confess with a sigh The difference in our ages. Must love depart With our youth, and the heart, As we grow in years, become colder? My love is but four, While I am twoscore, And may be a trifle older. With her smile and her glance, And her curls that dance, No one could ever resist her. If anywhere There's another so fair, Why, that must be her sister. With screams of glee At the sight of me, Together forth they sally From under the boughs That screen the house That stands beside the valley. It is scenes like these, As they clasp my knees And clamor for kiss and present, That still must make Our street by the lake More pleasant—oh, most pleasant! Ride merrily past, Glide smoothly and fast, O throngs of wealth and of pleasure! While sober and slow On foot I go, Enjoying my humble leisure. O World, before My lowly door Daily coming and going; O tide of life, O stream of strife, Forever ebbing and flowing! By the show and the shine No eye can divine If you be fair or hateful; I only know, As you come and go, That I am glad and grateful. So here, well back From the shaded track, By the curve of its greenest crescent, To-day I swing In my hammock, and sing The praise of the street named Pleasant.
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