Йейтс Уильям Батлер
«Стихи. (В переводах разных авторов)»

From the first crescent to the half, the dream

But summons to adventure and the man

Is always happy like a bird or a beast;

But while the moon is rounding towards the full

He follows whatever whim's most difficult

Among whims not impossible, and though scarred,

As with the cat-o'-nine-tails of the mind,

His body moulded from within his body

Grows comelier. Eleven pass, and then

Athene takes Achilles by the hair,

Hector is in the dust, Nietzsche is born,

Because the hero's crescent is the twelfth.

And yet, twice born, twice buried, grow he must,

Before the full moon, helpless as a worm.

The thirteenth moon but sets the soul at war

In its own being, and when that war's begun

There is no muscle in the arm; and after,

Under the frenzy of the fourteenth moon,

The soul begins to tremble into stillness,

To die into the labyrinth of itself!

Aherne. Sing out the song; sing to the end, and sing

The strange reward of all that discipline.

Robartes. All thought becomes an image and the soul

Becomes a body: that body and that soul

Too perfect at the full to lie in a cradle,

Too lonely for the traffic of the world:

Body and soul cast out and cast away

Beyond the visible world.

Aherne. All dreams of the soul

End in a beautiful man's or woman's body.

Robartes. Have you not always known it?

Aherne. The song will have it

That those that we have loved got their long fingers

From death, and wounds, or on Sinai's top,

Or from some bloody whip in their own hands.

They ran from cradle to cradle till at last

Their beauty dropped out of the loneliness

Of body and soul.

Robartes. The lover's heart knows that.

Aherne. It must be that the terror in their eyes

Is memory or foreknowledge of the hour

When all is fed with light and heaven is bare.

Robartes. When