Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах (билингва)

We readers of the older West
In wonder turn his Eastern page
Who preaches to a self-loved age
That self-forget fulness is best

Figures in grave procession shown.

No painted things of wire and wood.
But entities of flesh and blood,
With faiths and passions like our own

And She, — that soul of grace and pride,

Gripped in the vice of circumstance,
We hear, as in a breathless trance,
Of how she loved, and erred, and died.

So strong a sister’s load to share,

To eager Love’s behest so frail,
Till all his fires could not prevail
To turn the march of cold Despair,

She learned, as broke the Enchanter’s wand.

The dull reality of things;
She beat the cage with bleeding wings,
And burst into the dread Beyond.

And what of us? unveil who can

Our own decorous English life,
The tangle and the secret strife, —
The changeless heritage of man,

The jangled chords that mar the tune,

The mad desires, the hopes that die.
The tragedies that underlie
The laughter of a London June —

God knows, — who sees us as we are,

Of contradictions all compact,
The nobler aim, the baser act.
To hug the yoke, or scale the star;

From fair to foul, from foul to fair.

Like her, we drift and wander thus;
God’s mercy keep, for her, for us,
Chance of retrieval otherwhere!

Youth

“Vous en qui je salue une nouvelle aurore”

O, it’s fine to be young,

In the warmth of the Season;
All the Poets have sung”
“O, it’s fine to be young!”
When Love’s changes are rung
Upon Folly and Reason,—
O, it’s fine to be young,
In the warmth of the Season.

At Home

Who are those by the door?—
Our host and our hostess? —
Never saw them before:
Who are those by the door?
He looks such an old bore, —
She’s as white as a “ghostess”;
Who are those by the door? —
Our host!! and our hostess!!!

Disaster

“Let the wilful sun

Shine westward of our window, — straight we run

A furlong’s sigh as if the world were lost”.

She’s not asked to the Ball,

O, Despair! Desolation!
And it’s marked “Very small”,
She’s not asked to the Ball:
She has rushed off to call,
But still no invitation!
She’s not asked to the Ball,
O, Despair! Desolation!

Роберт Оффли Эшбертон Кру-Милнс, 1-й маркиз Кру, он же лорд Хоутон (1858–1945)

Могила во Фландрии