Читать книгу Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - Gérard de Nerval - Страница 2

Two loves there were, and one was born

Between the sunset and the rain;

Her singing voice went through the corn,

Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,

On grass the fallen blossoms stain;

And suns may set and moons may wane,

But this love comes no more again.

There were two loves, and one made white

Thy singing lips and golden hair;

Born of the city's mire and light,

The shame and splendour of the night,

She trapped and fled thee unaware;

Not through the lamplight and the rain

Shalt thou behold this love again.

Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,

Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;

There comes no voice from mere or rill,

Her dance is over, fallen still

The ballad burdens that she knew:

And thou must wait for her in vain,

Till years bring back thy youth again.

That other love, afield, afar

Fled the light love, with lighter feet.

Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,

And flit in dreams from star to star,

That dead love thou shalt never meet,

Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain

Thy soul shall find her soul again.