Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах - Антология

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I came back late and tired last night

Into my little room,

To the long chair and the firelight

And comfortable gloom.

But as I entered softly in

I saw a woman there,

The line of neck and cheek and chin,

The darkness of her hair,

The form of one I did not know

Sitting in my chair.

I stood a moment fierce and still,

Watching her neck and hair.

I made a step to her; and saw

That there was no one there.

It was some trick of the firelight

That made me see her there.

It was a chance of shade and light

And the cushion in the chair.

Oh, all you happy over the earth,

That night, how could I sleep?

I lay and watched the lonely gloom;

And watched the moonlight creep

From wall to basin, round the room,

All night I could not sleep.

1914

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

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,

⁠⁠    Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.

The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,

⁠⁠    And sunset, and the colours of the earth.

These had seen movement, and heard music; known

⁠⁠    Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;

Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;

⁠⁠    Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter

And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,

⁠⁠    Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance

And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white

⁠⁠    Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,

A width, a shining peace, under the night.

V. The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:

⁠⁠    That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

⁠⁠    In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

⁠⁠    Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

⁠⁠    Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

⁠⁠    A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

⁠⁠⁠    ⁠    Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

⁠⁠    And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

⁠⁠⁠    ⁠    In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.