Thomas Buchanan Read (Томас Бьюкенен Рид)

The Twins

From a beautiful lake in the mountain
Two rivulets came down,
With a rustle and flutter like ribbons of blue
By delicate breezes blown.

O’er beds of golden lustre,
In the shadow of rock and tree,
They sang the same tune with their silvery tongues
And clapped their hands in glee.

O’er rocks with mosses mantled
They eddied and whirled like a waltzing pair,
Till hand in hand with laughter and leap
They mingled their misty hair.

Over the self-same ledges,
Singing the self-same tune,
They passed from April to breezy May
Toward the fields of June.

They whirled and danced and dallied,
And through the meadows slid,
Till under the same thick grass and flowers
Their future course was hid.

I saw two beautiful children
Of one fair mother born,
Like two young clouds of golden hue
That smile on the breast of Morn.

The same in age and beauty,
The same in voice and size—
The same bright hair upon their heads,
The same blue in their eyes.

Singing the same song ever
In the self-same silvery tune,
They passed from April into May,
Toward the fields of June.

They whirled and danced and dallied,
The beautiful vales amid,
Till under the same thick leaves and flowers
Their future course was hid.

1. On Receiving a Privately Printed Volume of Poems from a Friend
2. Some Things Love Me
3. The Angler
4. My Hermitage
5. Sheridan's Ride

Henry Bukowski (Генри Буковски) the twins ("he hinted at times that I was a bastard and I told him to listen")

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