Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Poor child of sorrow! who didst boldly spring,

Like sapient Pallas, from thy parent’s brain

All armed in mail of proof! and thou wouldst fain

Leap further yet, and on exulting wing

Rise to the summit of the printer’s press!

But cruel hand hath nipped thy buds amain,

Hath fixed on thee the darkling inky stain,

Hath soiled thy splendour and defiled thy dress!

Where are thy “full-orbed moon” and “sky serene”?

And where thy “waving foam” and “foaming wave”?

All, all are blotted by the murderous pen

And lie unhonoured in their papery grave!

Weep, gentle sonnets! Sonneteers, deplore!

And vow — and keep your vow — you’ll write no more!