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

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At the perfection of oneТs own obedience;

And yet they speak what's blown into the mind;

Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,

Insipid as the dough before it is baked,

They change their bodies at a word.

Aherne. And then?

Rohartes. When all the dough has been so kneaded up

That it can take what form cook Nature fancies,

The first thin crescent is wheeled round once more.

Aherne. But the escape; the song's not finished yet.

Robartes. Hunchback and Saint and Fool are the last crescents.

The burning bow that once could shoot an arrow

Out of the up and down, the wagon-wheel

Of beauty's cruelty and wisdom's chatter-

Out of that raving tide-is drawn betwixt

Deformity of body and of mind.

Aherne. Were not our beds far off I'd ring the bell,

Stand under the rough roof-timbers of the hall

Beside the castle door, where all is stark

Austerity, a place set out for wisdom

That he will never find; I'd play a part;

He would never know me after all these years

But take me for some drunken countryman:

I'd stand and mutter there until he caught

"Hunchback and Saint and Fool," and that they came

Under the three last crescents of the moon.



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