Читать книгу Избранное. Поэзия. Драматургия - Максимилиан Гюбрис - Страница 52

Why ’tis so, that the child loves to hear the singings,

           Child in the age of one-day?

Why ’tis so, this animal likes to listen the stories,

           Yet never stepped in the age of the Brain?

Not in the age of the Theatre, he makes all grimases,

           Never learnt there laughter or fright;

He plays eyes, such, as if he’s in the age of Truth even;

           And, far from the age of the Judge, he cries.

Never felt yet in the age of the Doubt there,

He gives himself to the looks of all-leaned heads;

Why ’tis so? – Not in the age of Revenge yet,

This babe waves against the lie of false breaths.

Look, not in the age of all-tormented Passion,

He pulls his arms into invisible Far Space;

And, yet ne’er reached the age of Wisdom or Fashion,

This being wins upon Sadness with one even gaze.

He heeds to… As if in the age of New Legend…

Dear friend, don’t you know, where this nostalgie from?

An infant can’t see, but awakes to new sights and the senses,

So irrevitably lives in us, through each age, in each form…