Rupert Chawner Brooke (Руперт Брук)

The Dance

            A Song

   As the Wind, and as the Wind,
       In a corner of the way,
   Goes stepping, stands twirling,
   Invisibly, comes whirling,
   Bows before, and skips behind,
     In a grave, an endless play--

   So my Heart, and so my Heart,
       Following where your feet have gone,
   Stirs dust of old dreams there;
   He turns a toe; he gleams there,
   Treading you a dance apart.
     But you see not. You pass on.

1. Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body
2. The Song of the Beasts
3. Wagner
4. Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia
5. The True Beatitude

Harold Crane (Харт Крейн) The Dance ("The swift red flesh, a winter king")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1850

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