Литмир - Электронная Библиотека
Литмир - Электронная Библиотека > Визи Мария Генриховна > A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений > Стр.67
Содержание  
Сохранить
Шрифт
Размер шрифта   


Цвет фона

Цвет шрифта
Очистить
Настройки  
A
A
1
2
3
...
66
67
68
...
96

25 Dec. 1920

494 My First Speech

I cannot think of something bright
Or something that would fit;
You know, I never had much wit,
I lost it all tonight.
Of course, it's very impolite
Since I've been asked to speak,
But if one's intellect is weak
He never does what's right.
My speech was very short, you see,
And there was nothing to it.
I'm sorry; won't you pardon me?
I really hope I'll do it.

[1921 г.]

495. Chinese Lampshade

I have a pretty little shade
From Lantern street, Beitsing;
It's not so beautifully made,
But, oh, I love the thing!
My friends — they find its colors bright,
It hurts their eyes it seems;
But when it shines on me at night
It speaks of wondrous dream s…
They take me back to places I have known.
To ancient temples I have worshipped in;
They make me smell the incense that was blown
Before the gods and goddesses w ithin…
Upon the lantern's yellow, velvet ray
I travel back, as fast as thought can dare,
Back to a walled-in city far away,
Where lamps like mine are all night long aglare.
The richaws pitter-patter down the street,
A dusty street outside the City wall,
And all you do is — watch the sights you meet,
And hear the noises spreading over all.
Perhaps it's garish, and the colors severe,
But I forget the beauty you all know
For just a glimpse of lanterns over there —
In old Beitsing, the place where I would go.

[1921 г.]

496. «I bought a frame to fit..»

I bought a frame to fit
a dream I dreamt one night —
that I could often sit
and revel in the sight.
I put it in — but then
it vanished from the frame,
and never more again
I dreamt it just the same.
I got a jar of glass
to keep a lovely flower;
I placed it there — alas,
it wilted in an hour.
I saw a human soul
and gave that soul a song
But now I know its dole:
it will not live there long.

[1921 г.]

497. To October 1922

Why do you leave me, when I loved you so?
Where did you come from? Whither you go?
And, far outside the lives and worlds of men,
Tell me, my friend, may we not meet again?

[1922 г.]

498. «She said, when she had read his book…»[231]

Frances Johnson

She said, when she had read his book,
That he was fickle; Rupert Brooke,
So full of soul, so rich with thought,
So near the beauty he had sought…
Was «fickle» all that she could see?
And for his depth she did not care?
— Then what he wrote was not for her…
And, maybe, not for me.

[1922 г.]

499. My Star

In the sunset's orange glowing
How I loved to watch my star—
How I loved to watch it growing,
Coming nearer from afar!
It was brilliant, it was winking,
Shining straight upon my soul,
While the sun's red glove was sinking
Swiftly to'rds its daily goal.
Oh, my sapphire now deserts me!
It has left the Summer skies,
Now a vacant darkness hurts me
When I seek it with my eyes.
Ever northward falling, drowned
Past the gray horizon line—
Star of hope, that I had crowned
For a destiny of mine!

[1923 г.]

500. To a Stink-bug[232]

One day I saw a stink-bug small
А-sitting near me on the wall.
I said: «Tray tell me, Stink-bug dear,
What makes you suddenly appear
And light when no one wants you to,
As if the place belongs to you?
Will you not answer me?» I cried.
And, hark! The dirty bum replied,
As he looked up: «What did you think?
— I love to fly around and stink,
Because I know it makes you sore
To see me lighting on the floor,
Or watch me floating o'er your bed,
Or smell my presence near your head».
With this the grinning bug had flown
And left me, wondering, alone.

1923 г.

501. Homeward Bound

Oh, school's as great as great could be,
And all my friends around,
But it's Harbin and home for me,
And I am northward bound.
So hurry up, you lazy train,
And Farewell, old Tungchow!
Another day — and home again.
Oh, engine, why so slow?
Above North China's wheat and corn
The mists rise thick and white.
Oh, hurry on towards day, sweet morn,
For I'll be home tonight.
A happy winter this has been,
I love to live at school;
But now it's home, and it's Harbin,
— Enough of life by rule!
I want my home, and I am glad
That ere another day
I'll see my Mother and my Dad,
And Kitty at his play;
I'll have my chum again to kiss,
And I w on't work at all,
And never, never will I miss
The school outside the wall.
There won't be any rising bell,
With which the school awakes;
Instead of that there'll be a smell
Of homemade griddlecakes.
And I can stay in bed all day
Without that dose of oil,
And I can let my tired head
Rest from a Junior's toil.
And, Caesar, I'll forget you soon,
Though you have been my friend.
When will you cease, oh, engine's tune?
When will this journey end?
вернуться

231

Frances Johnson was a classmate at the North China American School in Tongzhou. Rupert Brooke (1887–1915), an English poet, died during the First World War; The Collected Works of Rupert Brooke was published posthumously in 1915.

вернуться

232

Published in NCA 1922 the student annual of the Noilh China American School in Tongzhou. The stink-bug is a grayish-brown beetle in Сhina, which emits a very unpleasant smell when squashed.

67
Перейти к описанию Предыдущая страница Следующая страница
{"b":"555630","o":1}