William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

The Magi

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor. 

1. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
2. The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
3. To Ireland in the Coming Times
4. The Pity of Love
5. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1837

Последние стихотворения

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