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

I shall not see them sweating at that task:
It was too much of any man to ask;
The death that gets you certain, soon or late;
Meanwhile the mess, the mud, the noise, the hate.
But I shall see through bandages the white
Cheeks round the gun-barrel, and then night.
Was it cowardice from fight’s short shock to creep
Into a nightmare of eternal sleep;
My only fault that I misjudged my spirit
And volunteered, and now disgrace inherit?
Still will bombardment fill the noisy sky,
Still will old comrades fight and wonder why;
But soon they’ll join me — those that I out-raced,
Reaching the goal too early, and disgraced.
The flower of sleep will blow on either grave
And wheat frequent the coward as the brave,
Disliking only where the trenches ploughed
And ordnance delved, the fiery liquids flowed,
Where war’s red feet his wicked winepress trod,
An outrage on the peaceful hopes of God.

Classic Encounter

Arrived upon the downs of asphodel
I walked towards the military quarter
To find the sunburnt ghosts of allied soldiers
Killed on the Chersonese.

I met a band of palefaced weary men

Got up in old equipment. “Hi”, I said
‘Are you Gallipoli?’

And one, the leader, with a voice of gold,

Answered: “No. Ours, sir, was an older bungle.
We are Athenian hopltes who sat down
Before young Syracuse.

‘Need I recount our too-much-memoired end?

The hesitancy of our General Stuff,
The battle of the Harbour, where Hope fled
But we could not?

‘Not our disgrace in that”, the leader added,

‘But we are those proficient in the arts
Freed in return for the repeated verses
Of our Euripides.

‘Those honeyed words did not soothe Cerebrus’

(The leader grinned), ‘For sulky Charon hire
Deficient, and by Rhadamanthos ruled
No mitigation.

‘And yet with men, born victims of their ears

The chorus of the weeping Troades
Prevailed to gain the freedom of our limbs
And waft us back to Athens.

‘Through every corridor of this old barracks

We wander without friends; not fallen or
Survivors in a military sense:
Hence our disgrace’.
He turned; and as the rank mists took them in
They chanted of the God to Whom men pray,
Whether He be Compulsion, or All-Fathering,
Or Fate and blind.

Poem