๋จ๋ฝ์ ํด๋ฆญํ๋ฉด ์ดํยท๋ฌธ๋ฒ ํด์ค์ด ์ค๋ฅธ์ชฝ์ ํ์๋ฉ๋๋ค.
I In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame--
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โII 'T is said that on the night when he was born,
A beauteous shape swept slowly through the room;
Its eyes broke on the infant like a morn,
And his cheek brightened like a rose in bloom;
But as it passed away there followed after
A sigh of pain, and sounds of elvish laughter.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โIII And so his parents deemed him to be blest
Beyond the lot of mortals; they were poor
As the most timid bird that stored its nest
With the stray gleanings at their cottage-door:
Yet they contrived to rear their little dove,
And he repaid them with the tenderest love.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โIV The child was very beautiful in sooth,
And as he waxed in years grew lovelier still;
On his fair brow the aureole of truth
Beamed, and the purest maidens, with a thrill,
Looked in his eyes, and from their heaven of blue
Saw thoughts like sinless Angels peering through.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โV Need there was none of censure or of praise
To mould him to the kind parental hand;
Yet there was ever something in his ways,
Which those about him could not understand;
A self-withdrawn and independent bliss,
Beside the father's love, the mother's kiss.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โVI For oft, when he believed himself alone,
They caught brief snatches of mysterious rhymes,
Which he would murmur in an undertone,
Like a pleased bee's in summer; and at times
A strange far look would come into his eyes,
As if he saw a vision in the skies.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โVII And he upon a simple leaf would pore
As if its very texture unto him
Had some deep meaning; sometimes by the door,
From noon until a summer-day grew dim,
He lay and watched the clouds; and to his thought
Night with her stars but fitful slumbers brought.
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โVIII In the long hours of twilight, when the breeze
Talked in low tones along the woodland rills,
Or the loud North its stormy minstrelsies
Blent with wild noises from the distant hills,
The boy--his rosy hand against his ear
Curved like a sea-shell--hushed as some rapt seer,
ํด์ค ๋ณด๊ธฐ โ