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"Я не буду более говорить о книгах или долгой войне


Но прогуливаясь вдоль сухого терновника, пока я не найду


какого-то попрошайку, прячущегося от ветра,


и там, смогу говорить, пока ее имя не появится.


Если будет достаточно тряпья, он будет знать ее имя.


И будет рад, вспоминая его,


Ибо в старые дни, несмотря на то, что молодые мужчины ее восхваляли,


а старики проклинали,


среди бедняков - и стар, и млад восхваляли ее."


William Butler Yeats

Her Praise



SHE is foremost of those that I would hear praised.


I have gone about the house, gone up and down


As a man does who has published a new book,


Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,


And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook


Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,


A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,


A man confusedly in a half dream


As though some other name ran in his head.


She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.


I will talk no more of books or the long war


But walk by the dry thorn until I have found


Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there


Manage the talk until her name come round.


If there be rags enough he will know her name


And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,


Though she had young men's praise and old men's blame,


Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.