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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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