Poems
- Автор: Yeats William
- Язык: английский
- Год: паблик
- Жанр: Прочая поэзия
Электронная книга - «Poems». Краткое содержание книги:
Poems
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Till fattening the winds of the morning, an odour of new-mown hayCame, and my forehead fell low, and my tears like berries fell down;Later a sound came, half lost in the sound of a shore far away,From the great grass-barnacle calling, and later the shore-weeds brown.
If I were as I once was, the strong hoofs crushing the sand and the shells,Coming out of the sea as the dawn comes, a chaunt of love on my lips,Not coughing, my head on my knees, and praying, and wroth with the bells,I would leave no saint's head on his body from Rachlin to Bera of ships.
Making way from the kindling surges, I rode on a bridle-pathMuch wondering to see upon all hands, of wattles and woodwork made,Your bell-mounted churches, and guardless the sacred cairn and the rath,And a small and a feeble populace stooping with mattock and spade.
Or weeding or ploughing with faces a-shining with much-toil wet;While in this place and that place, with bodies unglorious, their chieftains stood,Awaiting in patience the straw-death, croziered one, caught in your net:Went the laughter of scorn from my mouth like the roaring of wind in a wood.
And because I went by them so huge and so speedy with eyes so bright,Came after the hard gaze of youth, or an old man lifted his head:And I rode and I rode, and I cried out, "The Fenians hunt wolves in the night,So sleep thee by daytime." A voice cried, "The Fenians a long time are dead."
A whitebeard stood hushed on the pathway, the flesh of his face as dried grass,And in folds round his eyes and his mouth, he sad as a child without milk;And the dreams of the islands were gone, and I knew how men sorrow and pass,And their hound, and their horse, and their love, and their eyes that glimmer like silk.
And wrapping my face in my hair, I murmured, "In old age they ceased";And my tears were larger than berries, and I murmured, "Where white clouds lie spread"On Crevroe or broad Knockfefin, with many of old they feast"On the floors of the gods." He cried, "No, the gods a long time are dead."
And lonely and longing for Niam, I shivered and turned me about,The heart in me longing to leap like a grasshopper into her heart;I turned and rode to the westward, and followed the sea's old shoutTill I saw where Maive lies sleeping till starlight and midnight part.
And there at the foot of the mountain, two carried a sack full of sand,They bore it with staggering and sweating, but fell with their burden at length:Leaning down from the gem-studded saddle, I flung it five yards with my hand,With a sob for men waxing so weakly, a sob for the Fenian's old strength.
The rest you have heard of, O croziered one; how, when divided the girth,I fell on the path, and the horse went away like a summer fly;And my years three hundred fell on me, and I rose, and walked on the earth,A creeping old man, full of sleep, with the spittle on his beard never dry.
How the men of the sand-sack showed me a church with its belfry in air;Sorry place, where for swing of the war-axe in my dim eyes the crozier gleams;What place have Caolte and Conan, and Bran, Sgeolan, Lomair?Speak, you too are old with your memories, an old man surrounded with dreams.
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