"Эмили Дикинсон. Стихи в переводах Л.В.Кириллиной" - читать интересную книгу автора

One crown not any seek,
And yet the highest head
Its isolation coveted,
Its stigma deified.

While Pontius Pilatus lives,
In whatsoever hell,
that coronation pierces him.
He recollects it well.

Ќ и Їгвм Ўл« § ўҐа襭...

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Ќ и Їгвм Ўл« § ўҐа襭
в ¬, Ј¤Ґ ЇҐаҐбҐЄ«Ёбм,
а §ўЁ«ЄЁ ¤ўге ¤®а®Ј:
‚­ҐўаҐ¬Ґ­мҐ Ё †Ё§­м.

“¬ҐаЁў Ў®¤ал© и Ј,
¬л ®а®ЎҐ«Ё ў¤агЈ:
ў¤ «Ё - ¬л §­ «Ё - Ј®а®¤ ,
­® ¬Ґавўл© «Ґб - ў®ЄагЈ.

Ћв१ ­ Їгвм ­ § ¤,
  ўЇҐаҐ¤Ё ­ б ¦¤Ґв
‚­ҐўаҐ¬Ґ­мп ЎҐб梥в­л© д« Ј
Ё Ѓ®Ј г ўбҐе ў®а®в.

-

Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being"s road,
Eternity by term.

Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.

Retrear was our hope, -
Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity;s white flag before,
And God at every gate.

‚бваҐвЁ«Ёбм ¬л б«гз ©­®...

**