Читать книгу Охота за древом. Стихи и переводы - Александр Милитарев - Страница 17

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

««Tis some visitor,» I muttered, «tapping at my chamber door —

                                     Only this, and nothing more.»

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore —

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

                                     Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

««Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —

                                      This it is and nothing more.»

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

«Sir,» said I, «or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you» – here I opened wide the door; —

                       Darkness there and nothing more.