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

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Twenty-and-eight, and yet but six-and-twenty

The cradles that a man must needs be rocked in:

For thereТs no human life at the full or the dark.

From the first crescent to the half, the dream

But summons to adventure and the man

Is always happy like a bird or a beast;

But while the moon is rounding towards the full

He follows whatever whim's most difficult

Among whims not impossible, and though scarred,

As with the cat-o'-nine-tails of the mind,

His body moulded from within his body

Grows comelier. Eleven pass, and then

Athene takes Achilles by the hair,

Hector is in the dust, Nietzsche is born,

Because the hero's crescent is the twelfth.

And yet, twice born, twice buried, grow he must,

Before the full moon, helpless as a worm.

The thirteenth moon but sets the soul at war

In its own being, and when that war's begun

There is no muscle in the arm; and after,

Under the frenzy of the fourteenth moon,

The soul begins to tremble into stillness,

To die into the labyrinth of itself!

Aherne. Sing out the song; sing to the end, and sing

The strange reward of all that discipline.

Robartes. All thought becomes an image and the soul

Becomes a body: that body



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