Читать книгу The Complete Works - William Butler Yeats - Страница 26

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If this importunate heart trouble your peace

With words lighter than air,

Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;

Crumple the rose in your hair;

And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,

‘O Hearts of wind-blown flame!

O Winds, elder than changing of night and day,

That murmuring and longing came,

From marble cities loud with tabors of old

In dove-gray faery lands;

From battle banners, fold upon purple fold,

Queens wrought with glimmering hands;

That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn face

Above the wandering tide;

And lingered in the hidden desolate place,

Where the last Phœnix died

And wrapped the flames above his holy head;

And still murmur and long:

O Piteous Hearts, changing till change be dead

In a tumultuous song’:

And cover the pale blossoms of your breast

With your dim heavy hair,

And trouble with a sigh for all things longing for rest

The odorous twilight there.