Dylan Thomas

Не уходи покорно в сумрак ночи!
Пылает пусть в закате дня
Хромая старость и пророчит
Золу, что следствие огня.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Especially when the October
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,

On almost the incendiary eve Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved And always known must
Lions and fires of his flying breath, Of your immortal
Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust To shoot and...

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's

Too proud to die; broken and blind he
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow
On that darkest day,

My tears are like the quiet
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the
Of unremembered skies and snows

Now as I was young and easy under the apple
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron

Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house The gentleman lay graveward with his furies; Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam, And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies, The atlas-eater with a jaw for news, Bit out the mandrake with to-mor...

Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the
That shaped the Jordan near my