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

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'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 any man;


Yet now I choose, for these four feet


Ran through the foam and ran to this


That I might have your son to kiss.


'Were there no better than my son


That you through all that foam should run?


'I loved no man, though kings besought,


Until the Danaan poets brought


Rhyme that rhymed upon Oisin's name,


And now I am dizzy with the thought


Of all that wisdom and the fame


Of battles broken by his hands,


Of stories builded by his words


That are like coloured Asian

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