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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540094" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Repentance</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A PASTORAL BALLAD</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold,<br>Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,<br>Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,<br>Could we but have been as contented as they.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I,<br>'Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;<br>But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die<br>Before he shall go with an inch of the land!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;<br>Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide; <br>We could do what we liked with the land, it was ours;<br>And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now we are strangers, go early or late;<br>And often, like one overburthened with sin,<br>With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate,<br>I look at the fields, but I cannot go in!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day,<br>Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,<br>A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,<br>'What ails you, that you must come creeping to me!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With our pastures about us, we could not be sad;<br>Our comfort was near if we ever were crost;<br>But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had,<br>We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son<br>Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain!<br>Think of evening's repose when our labour was done,<br>The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep,<br>How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, <br>Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep<br>That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail;<br>And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh,<br>That follows the thought--We've no land in the vale,<br>Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540094" data-title="Repentance de William Wordsworth" data-description="A PASTORAL BALLAD

THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,
Could we but have been as contented as they.

When the troublesome Tempter be..."></div>
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