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

God of the Wine List, roseate lord,
And is it really then good-by?
Of Prohibitionists abhorred.
Must thou in sorry sooth then die,
(O fatal morning of July!)
Nor aught hold back the threatened hour
That shrinks thy purple clusters dry?
Say not good-by — but au revoir!

For the last time the wine is poured,

For the last toast the glass raised high.
And henceforth round the wintry board,
As dumb as fish, we’ll sit and sigh,
And eat our Puritanic pie,
And dream of suppers gone before.
With flying wit and words that fly—
Say not good-by — but an revoir!

Twas on thy wings the poet soared,

And Sorrow fled when thou wentst by,
And, when we said "Here’s looking toward".
It seemed a better world, say I,
With greener grass and bluer sky.
The writ is on the Tavern Door,
And who would tipple on the sly?.
’Tis not good-by — but au revoir!

Envoi

Gay God of Bottles, I deny
Those brave tempestuous times are o’er;
Somehow I think, I scarce know why,
’Tis not good-by— but au revoir!

The Second Crucifixion

Loud mockers in the roaring street
Say Christ is crucified again:
Twice pierced His gospel-bearing feet,
Twice broken His great heart in vain.

I hear, and to myself I smile,

For Christ talks with me all the while.

No angel now to roll the stone

From off His unawaking sleep,
In vain shall Mary watch alone,
In vain the soldiers vigil keep.

Yet while they deem my Lord is dead

My eyes are on His shining head.

Ah! never more shall Mary hear

That voice exceeding sweet and low
Within the garden calling clear:
Her Lord is gone, and she must go.

Yet all the while my Lord I meet

In every London lane and street.

Poor Lazarus shall wait in vain,

And Bartimæus still go blind;
The healing hem shall ne’er again
Be touch’d by suffering humankind.

Yet all the while I see them rest,

The poor and outcast, on His breast.

No more unto the stubborn heart

With gentle knocking shall He plead,
No more the mystic pity start,
For Christ twice dead is dead indeed.

So in the street I hear men say:

Yet Christ is with me all the day.

Ричард Ле Гальенн (1866–1947)

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