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

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Close to a clump of beech trees in the wood


Westward of Tara, there to await a friend


That could, as he had told her, work his cure


And would be no harsh friend.


When night had deepened,


I groped my way through boughs, and over roots,


Till oak and hazel ceased and beech began,


And found the house, a sputtering torch within,


And stretched out sleeping on a pile of skins


Ardan, and though I called to him and tried


To shake him out of sleep, I could not rouse him.


I waited till the night was on the turn,


Then fearing that some labourer, on his way


To plough or pasture-land, might see me there,


Went out.


Among the ivy-covered rocks,


As on the blue light of a sword, a man


Who had unnatural majesty, and eyes


Like the eyes of some great kite scouring the woods,


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

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