Have done, ye bards, with dull monot.!
Foll. my examp., O, Stephen Phill.,
O, Owen Seam., O, William Wat.,
O, Ella Wheeler Wil.,
And share with me the grave respons.
of writing this amazing nons.!
Гарри Грэм (1874–1936)
Поэтическая экономия
Пришлось ночами мне не спать,
Истратить баррели чернил,
Размер пытаясь подыскать,
Чтоб стих мой складен был.
И я нашел-таки прием,
Что делать в случае таком.
Когда какой-то слог de trop[83],
А я размер строки ищу,
Я слова сохраню ядро,
Оконч. же сокращу.
Так делаю я каждый день.
Еще бы! Время — это день..
А стих мой легок, прост и чист,
Я за него награды жду.
Я, не таясь, открыл вам сист.,
Которую приду.:
Ее применит с этих пор
Любой разумный стихотвор..
Читатели покорены
Стихосложением моим.
О вы, поэты всей страны,
С меня возьмите прим..
Я, разумеется презир.
Сварливых критиков придир..
Поэты! Подражайте мне:
Я вам на то даю добро.
Я сокращаю без стесне.
Всё, что не лезет в стро.
Пусть пишут так небезызвест.
И Редьярд Кип., и Гилберт Чест..
Коль Бай. писал бы так «Дон Жу.»,
А Кол. — поэму "Старый мор.",
Они могли б, я вам скажу,
Сберечь бумаги вор.,
Что учит нас из всех словес
Всё убирать, что безполез..
И если бы Шекспир сумел
Ужать своих размеры драм,
То был короче бы «Отел.»,
А может, даже «Гам.».
И, посмотрев спектакль такой,
Мы раньше бы ушли домой.
О барды, вы, чей стих сентим.!
Я всем вам буду эталон.
Ты, Стивен Фил., ты, Оуэн Сим.,
И ты, о Билл Мак-Гон.!
Вы разделить со мной могли б
Ответст. за эту всю белиб..
James Elroy Flecker (1884–1915)
The Masque Of The Magi
Three Kings have come to Bethlehem
With a trailing star in front of them.
MARY
What would you in this little place,
You three bright kings?
KINGS
Mother, we tracked the trailing star
Which brought us here from lands afar,
And we would look on his dear face
Round whom the Seraphs fold their wings.
MARY
But who are you, bright kings?
CASPAR
Caspar am I: the rocky North
From storm and silence drave me forth
Down to the blue and tideless sea.
I do not fear the tinkling sword,
For I am a great battle-lord,
And love the horns of chivalry.
And I have brought thee splendid gold,
The strong man’s joy, refined and cold.
All hail, thou Prince of Galilee!
BALTHAZAR
I am Balthazar, Lord of Ind,
Where blows a soft and scented wind
From Taprobane towards Cathay.
My children, who are tall and wise,
Stand by a tree with shutten eyes
And seem to meditate or pray.
And these red drops of frankincense
Betoken man’s intelligence.
Hail, Lord of Wisdom, Prince of Day!
MELCHIOR
I am the dark man, Melchior,
And I shall live but little more
Since I am old and feebly move.
My kingdom is a burnt-up land
Half buried by the drifting sand,
So hot Apollo shines above.
What could I bring but simple myrrh
White blossom of the cordial fire?
Hail, Prince of Souls, and Lord of Love!
CHORUS OF ANGELS
O Prince of souls and Lord of Love,
O’er thee the purple-breasted dove
Shall watch with open silver wings,
Thou King of Kings.
Suaviole o flos Virginum,
Apparuit Rex Gentium.
…
"Who art thou, little King of Kings?"
His wondering mother sings.
War Song Of The Saracens
We are they who come faster than fate: we are they who ride early or late:
We storm at your ivory gate: Pale Kings of the Sunset, beware!
Not on silk nor in samet we lie, not in curtained solemnity die
Among women who chatter and cry, and children who mumble a prayer.
But we sleep by the ropes of the camp, and we rise with a shout, and we tramp
With the sun or the moon for a lamp, and the spray of the wind in our hair.
From the lands, where the elephants are, to the forts of Merou and Balghar,
Our steel we have brought and our star to shine on the ruins of Rum.
We have marched from the Indus to Spain, and by God we will go there again;
We have stood on the shore of the plain where the Waters of Destiny boom.
A mart of destruction we made at Jalula where men were afraid,
For death was a difficult trade, and the sword was a broker of doom;
And the Spear was a Desert Physician who cured not a few of ambition,
And drave not a few to perdition with medicine bitter and strong:
And the shield was a grief to the fool and as bright as a desolate pool,
And as straight as the rock of Stamboul when their cavalry thundered along:
For the coward was drowned with the brave when our battle sheered up like a wave,
And the dead to the desert we gave, and the glory to God in our song.