Lawrence Durrell

Cut from the joints of this immense
Darkness upon the face of Egypt lying,
We move in the possession of our acts
Alone, the dread apostles of our weakness.

For look. The mauve streetis swallowed
And the bats have begun to stitch slowly.

At the stable door the carpenter's three sons
Bend over a bucket of burning shavings,
Warming their inwardness and quite unearthly
A the candle-marking time begins.

Three little magi under vast Capella,
Beloved of all as shy as the astronomer,
She troubles heaven with her golden tears,
Tears flowing down upon us at this window,
The children rapt, the mauve street swallowed,
The harps of flame among the shadows
In Egypt now and far from Nazareth.

@темы: 20, durrell, lawrence, d, english-british