The Island of Skyros
Here, where we stood together, we three men,
Before the war had swept us to the East Three thousand miles away,
I stand again And hear the bells, and breathe, and go to feast.
We trod the same path, to the selfsame place,
Yet here I stand, having beheld their graves,
Skyros whose shadows the great seas erase,
And Seddul Bahr that ever more blood craves.
So, since we communed here, our bones have been Nearer, perhaps, than they again will be,
Earth and the worldwide battle lie between,
Death lies between, and friend-destroying sea.
Yet here, a year ago, we talked and stood As I stnad now, with pulses beating blood.
I saw her like a shadow on the sky In the last light, a blur upon the sea,
Then the gale's darkness put the shadow by,
But from one grave that island talked to me;
And, in the midnight, in the breaking storm,
I saw its blackness and a blinking light,
And thought, "So death obscures your gentle form,
So memory strives to make the darkness bright;
And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies,
Part of the island till the planet ends,
My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise,
Part of this crag this bitter surge offends,
While I, who pass, a little obscure thing,
War with this force, and breathe, and am its king."
John Masefield
Другие работы автора
Twilight
Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all, There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end, Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my...
Reynard the Fox - Part 1
The meet was at The Cock and Pye By Charles and Martha Enderby, The grey, three-hundred-year-old inn Long since the haunt of Benjamin The highwayman, who rode the bay The tavern fronts the coaching way, The mail changed horse...
The Seekers
Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blessed abode, But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind, For we go seeking a city that we shall never find
Trade Winds
In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas, Are the tiny white houses and the orange-trees, And day-long, night-long, the cool and pleasant breeze Of the steady Trade Winds blowing There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale,