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

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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,
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