William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

The Rose of the World

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place,
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

1. Размышления во время гражданской войны • Meditations in Time of Civil War
2. The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
3. The Pity of Love
4. To Ireland in the Coming Times
5. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1926

Последние стихотворения

To English version