Искусствоед
Lawrence Durrell
The Pilot
To Dudley Honor
Sure a lovely day and all weather
Leading westward to Ireland and our childhood.
On the quarters of heaven, held by stars,
The Hunter and Arcturus getting ready —
The elect of heaven all burning on the wheel.
This lovely morning must the pilot leaning
In the eye of heaven feel the island
Turning beneath him, burning soft and blue —
And all this mortal globe like a great lamp
With spines of rivers,
families of cities
Seeming to the solitary boy so
Local and queer yet so much part of him.
The enemies of silence have come nearer.
Turn, turn to the morning on the wild elbows:
Look down through the five senses like stars
To where our lives lie small and equal like two grains
Before Chance — the hawk's eye or the pilot's
Round and shining on the open sky,
Reflecting back the innocent world in it.
The Pilot
To Dudley Honor
Sure a lovely day and all weather
Leading westward to Ireland and our childhood.
On the quarters of heaven, held by stars,
The Hunter and Arcturus getting ready —
The elect of heaven all burning on the wheel.
This lovely morning must the pilot leaning
In the eye of heaven feel the island
Turning beneath him, burning soft and blue —
And all this mortal globe like a great lamp
With spines of rivers,
families of cities
Seeming to the solitary boy so
Local and queer yet so much part of him.
The enemies of silence have come nearer.
Turn, turn to the morning on the wild elbows:
Look down through the five senses like stars
To where our lives lie small and equal like two grains
Before Chance — the hawk's eye or the pilot's
Round and shining on the open sky,
Reflecting back the innocent world in it.