Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald - F. Scott Fitzgerald - Страница 93

“Faint winds, and a song fading and leaves falling,

Faint winds, and far away a fading laughter …

And the rain and over the fields a voice calling …

Our gray blown cloud scurries and lifts above,

Slides on the sun and flutters there to waft her

Sisters on. The shadow of a dove

Falls on the cote, the trees are filled with wings;

And down the valley through the crying trees

The body of the darker storm flies; brings

With its new air the breath of sunken seas

And slender tenuous thunder …

But I wait …

Wait for the mists and for the blacker rain—

Heavier winds that stir the veil of fate,

Happier winds that pile her hair;

Again

They tear me, teach me, strew the heavy air

Upon me, winds that I know, and storm.

There was a summer every rain was rare;

There was a season every wind was warm….

And now you pass me in the mist … your hair

Rain-blown about you, damp lips curved once more

In that wild irony, that gay despair

That made you old when we have met before;

Wraith-like you drift on out before the rain,

Across the fields, blown with the stemless flowers,

With your old hopes, dead leaves and loves again—

Dim as a dream and wan with all old hours

(Whispers will creep into the growing dark …

Tumult will die over the trees)

Now night

Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse

Of day, glides down the dreaming hills, tear-bright,

To cover with her hair the eerie green …

Love for the dusk … Love for the glistening after;

Quiet the trees to their last tops … serene …

Faint winds, and far away a fading laughter …”

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