» » , ᳢ ...: .. -

, ᳢ ...: .. -


糳. , 10 . (18591936).

-, -, . , , . , , , . , , .

" " (1896; -) , " " (1922). , , .

, , .

Because I liked you better
Than suits a man to say,
It irked you, and I promised
To throw the thought away.

To put the world between us
We parted, stiff and dry;
Good-bye, said you, forget me.
I will, no fear, said I.

If here, where clover whitens
The dead mans knoll, you pass,
And no tall flower to meet you
Starts in the trefoiled grass,

Halt by the headstone naming
The heart no longer stirred,
And say the lad that loved you
Was one that kept his word.


( ) .

᳢ ,
, , ,
,
.

̳ .
:
". ",
: "".




,

dz ,
:
, ᳢ ,
.


( )

, .

:

He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?
He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder
And went with half my life about my ways.


:

?

 , .



 .


-, , , , , . , 볳, Oh who is that young sinner..., , :

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.


:


?
, ?
.

,
.
, ,
, .

,
, ,
, , ,
.

: ,
, .

.


, , . , - . ( ) , , .



, ,
,

.


,

, .
,
,

.
,
,

.

: " ,
,
,
.
,
,
,
, ".

,
, ,
,
.
, ,
,
, ,
,
, ,
:
", ,
!"

, ,
.
, ,
, .
,


.



The Land of Biscay

Hearken, landsmen, hearken, seamen,
to the tale of grief and me
Looking from the land of Biscay
on the waters of the sea.

Looking from the land of Biscay
over Ocean to the sky
On the far-beholding foreland
paced at even grief and I.
There, as warm the west was burning
and the east uncoloured cold,
Down the waterway of sunset
drove to shore a ship of gold.
Gold of mast and gold of cordage,
gold of sail to sight was she,
And she glassed her ensign golden
in the waters of the sea.

Oh, said I, my friend and lover,
take we now that ship and sail
Outward in the ebb of hues and
steer upon the sunset trail;
Leave the night to fall behind us
and the clouding countries leave:
Help for you and me is yonder,
in a haven west of eve.

Under hill she neared the harbour,
till the gazer could behold
On the golden deck the steersman
standing at the helm of gold,
Man and ship and sky and water
burning in a single flame;
And the mariner of Ocean,
he was calling as he came:
From the highway of the sunset
he was shouting on the sea,
Landsman of the land of Biscay,
have you help for grief and me?

When I heard I did not answer,
I stood mute and shook my head:
Son of earth and son of Ocean,
much we thought and nothing said.
Grief and I abode the nightfall,
to the sunset grief and he
Turned them from the land of Biscay
on the waters of the sea.


,  ᳢ ...:  .. -

,  ᳢ ...:  .. -

,  ᳢ ...:  .. -

,  ᳢ ...:  .. -