Текст оригинала на английском языке
Within the pale blue haze above, Some pitchy shreds took size and form, And, like a madman's wrath or love, From nothing rose a sudden storm. The blossom'd limes, which seem'd to exhale Her breath, were swept with one strong sweep, And up the dusty road the hail Came like a flock of hasty sheep, Driving me under a cottage-porch, Whence I could see the distant Spire, Which, in the darkness, seem'd a torch Touch'd with the sun's retreating fire. A voice, so sweet that even her voice, I thought, could scarcely be more sweet, As thus I stay'd against my choice, Did mine attracted hearing greet; And presently I turn'd my head Where the kind music seem'd to be, And where, to an old blind man, she read The words that teach the blind to see. She did not mark me; swift I went, Thro' the fierce shower's whistle and smoke, To her home, and thence her woman sent Back with umbrella, shoes and cloak. The storm soon pass'd; the sun's quick glare Lay quench'd in vapour fleecy, fray'd; And all the moist, delicious air Was fill'd with shine that cast no shade; And, when she came, forth the sun gleam'd, And clash'd the trembling Minster chimes; And the breath with which she thank'd me seem'd Brought thither from the blossom'd limes.
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