Текст оригинала на английском языке
Ode Written on the First of December
Tho' now no more the musing ear Delights to listen to the breeze That lingers o'er the green wood shade, I love thee Winter! well. Sweet are the harmonies of Spring, Sweet is the summer's evening gale, Pleasant the autumnal winds that shake The many-colour'd grove. And pleasant to the sober'd soul The silence of the wintry scene, When Nature shrouds her in her trance Not undelightful now to roam The wild heath sparkling on the sight; Not undelightful now to pace The forest's ample rounds; And see the spangled branches shine, And mark the moss of many a hue That varies the old tree's brown bark, Or o'er the grey stone spreads. The cluster'd berries claim the eye O'er the bright hollies gay green leaves, The ivy round the leafless oak Clasps its full foliage close. So VIRTUE diffident of strength Clings to RELIGION'S firmer aid, And by RELIGION'S aid upheld Endures calamity. Nor void of beauties now the spring, Whose waters hid from summer sun Have sooth'd the thirsty pilgrim's ear With more than melody. The green moss shines with icey glare, The long grass bends its spear-like form, And lovely is the silvery scene When faint the sunbeams smile. Reflection too may love the hour When Nature, hid in Winter's grave, No more expands the bursting bud Or bids the flowret bloom. For Nature soon in Spring's best charms Shall rise reviv'd from Winter's grave. Again expand the bursting bud, And bid the flowret bloom.
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