Давид Самойлов. Стихотворения --------------------------------------------------------------- Москва, Советский писатель 1985 ---------------------------------------------------------------
Упущенных побед немало, Одержанных побед немного, Но если можно бы сначала Жизнь эту вымолить у Бога, Хотелось бы чтоб было снова Упущенных побед немало, Одержанных побед немного.
[Arnold places the knife in the ground, with the point upwards.
Now 'tis set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like Myself, and the sweet sun which warmed me, but In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing! So let them, for I would not be lamented: But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; The fallen leaves my monument; the murmur Of the near fountain my sole elegy. Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall! [As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, which seems in motion. The fountain moves without a wind: but shall The ripple of a spring change my resolve? No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir, Not as with air, but by some subterrane And rocking Power of the internal world. What's here? A mist! No more?- [A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black man comes towards him. Arn. What would you? Speak! Spirit or man? Stran. As man is both, why not Say both in one? Arn. Your form is man's, and yet You may be devil. Stran. So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me To which you please, without much wrong to either. But come: you wish to kill yourself;-pursue Your purpose. Arn. You have interrupted me. Stran. What is that resolution which can e'er Be interrupted? If I be the devil You deem, a single moment would have made you Mine, and for ever, by your suicide; And yet my coming saves you. Arn. I said not You were the Demon, but that your approach Was like one. Stran. Unless you keep company With him (and you seem scarce used to such high Society) you can't tell how he approaches; And for his aspect, look upon the fountain, And then on me, and judge which of us twain Looks likest what the boors believe to be Their cloven-footed terror. Arn. Do you-dare you To taunt me with my born deformity? Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary With thy Sublime of Humps, the animals Would revel in the compliment. And yet Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty In action and endurance than thyself, And all the fierce and fair of the same kind With thee.
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