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

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At evening in their rainless lands.

O Patrick, by your brazen bell,

There was no limb of mine but fell

Into a desperate gulph of love!

'You only will I wed, I cried,

'And I will make a thousand songs,

And set your name all names above,

And captives bound with leathern thongs

Shall kneel and praise you, one by one,

At evening in my western dun.

'O Oisin, mount by me and ride

To shores by the wash of the tremulous tide,

Where men have heaped no burial-mounds,

And the days pass by like a wayward tune,

Where broken faith has never been known

And the blushes of first love never have flown;

And there I will give you a hundred hounds;

No mightier creatures bay at the moon;

And a hundred robes of murmuring silk,

And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep

Whose long wool whiter than sea-froth flows,

And a hundred spears and a hundred bows,

And oil and wine and honey and milk,

And always never-anxious sleep;

While a hundred youths, mighty of limb,

But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife,

And a hundred ladies,



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