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

I. Peace

Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
⁠    And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
⁠    ⁠To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
⁠    ⁠Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
⁠    ⁠And all the little emptiness of love!
Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
⁠    ⁠Where there’s no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
⁠⁠⁠    ⁠    Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
⁠Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace there
⁠    ⁠But only agony, and that has ending;
⁠    ⁠    ⁠⁠⁠And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.

II. Safety

Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest
⁠⁠    He who has found our hid security,
Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest,
⁠⁠    And heard our word, “Who is so safe as we?”
We have found safety with all things undying,
⁠⁠    The winds, and morning, tears of men and mirth,
The deep night, and birds singing, and clouds flying,
⁠⁠    And sleep, and freedom, and the autumnal earth.
We have built a house that is not for Time’s throwing.
⁠⁠    We have gained a peace unshaken by pain for ever.
War knows no power. Safe shall be my going,
⁠⁠    Secretly armed against all death’s endeavour;
Safe though all safety’s lost; safe where men fall;
⁠    And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.

III. The Dead

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
⁠⁠    There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old,
⁠⁠    But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
⁠⁠    Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
⁠⁠    That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
⁠⁠    Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.
Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
⁠⁠    And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
⁠⁠    And we have come into our heritage.

IV. The Dead