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Слушать(AI)Hate
My enemy came nigh,
And I Stared fiercely in his face.
My lips went writhing back in a grimace,
And stern I watched him with a narrow eye.
Then, as I turned away, my enemy,
That bitter heart and savage, said to me: "Some day, when this is past,
When all the arrows that we have are cast,
We may ask one another why we hate,
And fail to find a story to relate.
It may seem then to us a mystery That we should hate each other." Thus said he,
And did not turn away,
Waiting to hear what I might have to say,
But I fled quickly, fearing had I stayed I might have kissed him as I would a maid.
James Stephens
James Stephens (9 February 1880[1] – 26 December 1950) was an Irish novelist and poet.
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