Читать книгу Poems - Yeats William Butler, William Butler Yeats - Страница 3

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,

My heart would brim with dreams about the times

When we bent down above the fading coals;

And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls

Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;

And of the wayward twilight companies,

Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,

Because their blossoming dreams have never bent

Under the fruit of evil and of good:

And of the embattled flaming multitude

Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,

And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,

And with the clashing of their sword blades make

A rapturous music, till the morning break,

And the white hush end all, but the loud beat

Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.