Читать книгу The Nature Books of Henry David Thoreau – 6 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition) - Henry David Thoreau - Страница 20

Lovely dove,

Whence, whence dost thou fly?

Whence, running on air,

Dost thou waft and diffuse

So many sweet ointments?

Who art? What thy errand?—

Anacreon sent me

To a boy, to Bathyllus,

Who lately is ruler and tyrant of all.

Cythere has sold me

For one little song,

And I'm doing this service

For Anacreon.

And now, as you see,

I bear letters from him.

And he says that directly

He'll make me free,

But though he release me,

His slave I will tarry with him.

For why should I fly

Over mountains and fields,

And perch upon trees,

Eating some wild thing?

Now indeed I eat bread,

Plucking it from the hands

Of Anacreon himself;

And he gives me to drink

The wine which he tastes,

And drinking, I dance,

And shadow my master's

Face with my wings;

And, going to rest,

On the lyre itself I sleep.

That is all; get thee gone.

Thou hast made me more talkative,

Man, than a crow.