William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

The Living Beauty

I'll say and maybe dream I have drawn content--
Seeing that time has frozen up the blood,
The wick of youth being burned and the oil spent--
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, and when we have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old,
The living beauty is for younger men,
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.

1. Индус о Боге • The Indian upon God
2. Жалобы старика • The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
3. In Memory of Major Robert Gregory
4. The Collar-Bone of a Hare
5. Специалисты • The Scholars

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1647

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