Томас Гарди (Харди) (Thomas Hardy) Текст оригинала на английском языке The Christening Whose child is this they bring Into the aisle? – At so superb a thing The congregation smile And turn their heads awhile. Its eyes are blue and bright, Its cheeks like rose; Its simple robes unite Whitest of calicoes With lawn, and satin bows. A pride in the human race At this paragon Of mortals, lights each face While the old rite goes on; But ah, they are shocked anon. What girl is she who peeps From the gallery stair, Smiles palely, redly weeps, With feverish furtive air As though not fitly there? ‘I am the baby’s mother; This gem of the race The decent fain would smother, And for my deep disgrace I am bidden to leave the place.’ ‘Where is the baby’s father?’ – ‘In the woods afar. He says there is none he’d rather Meet under moon or star Than me, of all that are. ‘To clasp me in lovelike weather, Wish fixing when, He says: To be together At will, just now and then, Makes him the blest of men; ‘But chained and doomed for life To slovening As vulgar man and wife, He says, is another thing: Yea: sweet Love’s sepulchring!’ 1904 |
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