Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 59

2. BEGGARS WALK THE ROAD

O, how I want to love the Lord,

just as His paupers do.

I want to walk the towns

and plead in His name true,

to learn it all and then forget,

to start to talk like the dumb or dead

of His sweet beauty too.

You think a candle stands here,

and that Lent is a quiet garden?

But if it is a garden, they will enter

and perhaps won’t find any faith within,

and candles spin no happiness here

but ruefully hang down.

And therefore you must close your door

and bury your clear mind:

it will spring up if alive,

whilst you must lie and wait behind.

And follow or bring inside

whoever wants to enter.

Don’t pick or choose between them:

a horrible sight they all are,

like worms on a wheel they all are.

And what if they kill me?

Then let that be too:

you’ll be given your medicine—

a few drops of blue.

And if my home is burned?

—So let it fall

for it isn’t your home at all.