Читать книгу Поэтические переводы - Томас Стернс Элиот - Страница 11

To whom I owe the leaping delight

That quickens my senses in our waking time

And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleeping time,

the breathing in unison.

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other

Who think the same thoughts without need of speech,

And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill

No sullen tropic sun shall wither

The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and only.

But this dedication is for others to read:

These are private words addressed to you in public.