Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Come, sweetest of the feather’d throng!

And soothe me with thy plaintive song:

Come to my cot, devoid of fear,

No danger shall await thee here:

No prowling cat, with whisker’d face,

Approaches this sequester’d place:

No schoolboy with his willow-bow

Shall aim at thee a murd’rous blow:

No wily lim’d twig ere molest

Thy olive wing or crimson breast:

Thy cup, sweet bird, I’ll daily fill

At yonder cressy, bubbling rill;

Thy board shall plenteously be spread

With crumblets of the nicest bread;

And when rude winter comes and shows

His icicles and shivering snows,

Hop o’er my cheering hearth and be

One of my peaceful family:

Then soothe me with thy plaintive song,

Thou sweetest of the fearther’d throng.