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

Stood on my path. Trembling from head to foot

I gazed at him like grouse upon a kite;

But with a voice that had unnatural music,

'A weary wooing and a long,' he said,

'Speaking of love through other lips and looking

Under the eyelids of another, for it was my craft

That put a passion in the sleeper there,

And when I had got my will and drawn you here,

Where I may speak to you alone, my craft

Sucked up the passion out of him again

And left mere sleep. He'll wake when the sun wakes,

Push out his vigorous limbs and rub his eyes,

And wonder what has ailed him these twelve months.'

I cowered back upon the wall in terror,

But that sweet-sounding voice ran on: 'Woman,

I was your husband when you rode the air,

Danced in the whirling foam and in the dust,

In days you have not kept in memory,

Being betrayed into a cradle, and I come

That I may claim you as my wife again.'

I was no longer terrified, his voice

Had half awakened some old memory,

Yet answered him: 'I am King Eochaid's wife

And with him have found every happiness

Women can find.' With a most masterful voice,

That made the body seem as it were a string

Under a bow, he cried: 'What happiness

Can lovers have that know their happiness

Must end at the dumb stone? But where we build

Our sudden palaces in the still air

Pleasure itself can bring no weariness,

Nor can time waste the cheek, nor is there foot

That has grown weary of the whirling dance,

Nor an unlaughing mouth, but mine that mourns,

Among those mouths that sing their sweethearts' praise,

Your empty bed.' 'How should I love,' I answered,

'Were it not that when the dawn has lit my bed

And shown my husband sleeping there, I have sighed,

"Your strength and nobleness will pass away."

Or how should love be