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Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
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Harold Hart Crane (Харт Крейн) Passage Where the cedar leaf divides the sky I heard the sea. In sapphire arenas of the hills I was promised an improved infancy. Sulking, sanctioning the sun, My memory I left in a ravine,- Casual louse that tissues the buck-wheat, Aprons rocks, congregates pears In moonlit bushels And wakens alleys with a hidden cough. Dangerously the summer burned (I had joined the entrainments of the wind). The shadows of boulders lengthened my back: In the bronze gongs of my cheeks The rain dried without odour. "It is not long, it is not long; See where the red and black Vine-stanchioned valleys-": but the wind Died speaking through the ages that you know And bug, chimney-sooted heart of man! So was I turned about and back, much as your smoke Compiles a too well-known biography. The evening was a spear in the ravine That throve through very oak. And had I walked The dozen particular decimals of time? Touching an opening laurel, I found A thief beneath, my stolen book in hand. "'Why are you back here-smiling an iron coffin? " "To argue with the laurel," I replied: "Am justified in transience, fleeing Under the constant wonder of your eyes-." He closed the book. And from the Ptolemies Sand troughed us in a glittering,, abyss. A serpent swam a vertex to the sun -On unpaced beaches leaned its tongue and drummed. What fountains did I hear? What icy speeches? Memory, committed to the page, had broke. Harold Hart Crane's other poems: ![]() Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1284 |
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