Последние тайны СССР – Проект Марс 88 - страница 12

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Eyes of blue-the Simla Hills

Silvered with the moonlight hoar;

Pleading of the waltz that thrills,

Dies and echoes round Benmore.

Eyes of brown-a dusty plain

Split and parched with heat of June,

Flying hoof and tightened rein,

Hearts that beat the old, old tune.

Maidens of your charity,

Pity my most luckless state.

Four times Cupid's debtor I —

Bankrupt in quadruplicate.

Yet, despite this evil case,

And a maiden showed me grace,

Four-and-forty times would I

Sing the Lovers' Litany:

"Love like ours can never die!"

Yes, this poem is really great… There are few words and it is even short, but very succinct, said Sveta sadly.

He has a lot of poems, but he received the Nobel Prize in 1907 for stories… and he refused to get it! You know, during his whole life he refused all kinds of titles, – remembered Andrey, now distracted from poems, – even the most prestigious one in England: Poet Laureate.

Yes, people were much more modest before… Remember? It seems that Pushkin wrote: What is glory? – A patch on the poet’s sackcloth, said Sveta thoughtfully.

All right, let’s put aside the materialistic side. The saddest thing is that there are no more such poems, – added Andrey.

Besides the poems themselves, many authors in this collection have interesting and tragic lives, full of events… Many of them went to the First World War, some died, and some died later but from the wounds of war anyway, Andrey continued.

It’s sad but it’s life… You’d better recite something else, asked Sveta.

One of Kipling’s best – “If”. There are a lot of translations, but Lozinsky probably did best of all:

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;

If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

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