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

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a wandering mind,


Have known three centuries, poets sing,


Of dalliance with a demon thing.


Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,


The swift innumerable spears,


The horsemen with their floating hair,


And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,


Those merry couples dancing in tune,


And the white body that lay by mine;


But the tale, though words be lighter than air.


Must live to be old like the wandering moon.


Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,


When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.


With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,


And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,


Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill


Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;


And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea


A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode


On a horse with bridle of findrinny;


And like a sunset were her lips,


A stormy sunset on doomed ships;


A citron colour gloomed in her hair,


But down to her feet white vesture flowed,


And with the glimmering crimson glowed


Of many a figured embroidery;


And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell


That wavered like the summer streams,


As her soft bosom rose and fell.


S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.


Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said


'And every hero droop his head?


The hornless deer is not more sad


That many a peaceful moment had,


More sleek than any granary mouse,


In his own leafy forest house


Among the waving fields of fern:


The hunting of heroes should be glad.'


'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,


'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,


And on the heroes lying slain


On Gabhra's raven-covered plain;


But where are your noble kith and kin,


And from what country do you ride?'


'My father and my mother are


Aengus and Edain, my own name


Niamh, and my country far


Beyond the tumbling of this tide.'


'What dream came with you that you came


Through bitter tide on foam-wet feet?


Did your companion wander away


From where the birds of Aengus wing?'


Thereon did she look haughty and sweet:


'I have not yet, war-weary king,


Been spoken of with

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