Дом на холме

Why is it then we stray

Around the sunken sill?

They are all gone away,

And our poor fancy-play

For them is wasted skill:

There is nothing more to say.

There is ruin and decay

In the House on the Hill:

They are all gone away,

There is nothing more to say.

Дом на холме

Они ушли совсем,

Заброшен дом и сад,

Нет слов и голос нем.

И сквозь обломки стен

Ветра во тьме шумят:

Они ушли совсем.

Ни хорошо, затем,

Ни плохо не сказать:

Нет слов и голос нем.

Тогда в окно зачем

Свой направляем взгляд?

Они ушли совсем.

Ни тех людей, ни сцен

Нет смысла представлять:

Нет слов и голос нем.

Дом на Холме лишь тлен,

Руины и распад:

Они ушли совсем,

Нет слов и голос нем.

    Перевод Е. Матвеева

Luke Havergal

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,

There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,

And in the twilight wait for what will come.

The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,

Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;

But go, and if you listen she will call.

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal —

Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies

To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;

But there, where western glooms are gathering,

The dark will end the dark, if anything:

God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,

And hell is more than half of paradise.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies —

In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this,

Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss

That flames upon your forehead with a glow

That blinds you to the way that you must go.

Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,

Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this —

To tell you this.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,

There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.

Go, for the winds are tearing them away, —

Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,

Nor any more to feel them as they fall;

But go, and if you trust her she will call.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal —

Luke Havergal.

Люк Хэвергол

Люк Хэвергол, да, к западным вратам,

Туда, где плющ багряный льнет к стенам,

Иди и жди, что сумрак принесет.

О ней зашепчут листья, горсткой слов

Задевши, опалив, падут к ногам;

Иди же, зов ее услышишь там.