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

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He hears the storm in the chimney above,


And bends to the fire and shakes with the cold,


While his heart still dreams of battle and love,


And the cry of the hounds on the hills of old.


But We are apart in the grassy places,


Where care cannot trouble the least of our days,


Or the softness of youth be gone from our faces,


Or love's first tenderness die in our gaze.


The hare grows old as she plays in the sun


And gazes around her with eyes of brightness;


Before the swift things that she dreamed of were done


She limps along in an aged whiteness;


A storm of birds in the Asian trees


Like tulips in the air a-winging,


And the gentle waves of the summer seas,


That raise their heads and wander singing,


Must murmur at last, "Unjust, unjust";


And "My speed is a weariness," falters the mouse,


And the kingfisher turns to a ball of dust,


And the roof falls in of his tunnelled house.


But the love-dew dims our eyes till the day


When God shall come from the Sea with a sigh


And bid the stars drop down from the sky,


And the moon like a pale rose wither

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