Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах (билингва)

Seated between the old world and the new

A land there is no other land may touch,

Where reigns a queen in peace and honour true;

Stories or fables do describe no such.

Never did Atlas such a burthen bear

As she in holding up the world oppressed,

Supplying with her virtue everywhere,

Weakness of friends, errors of servants best.

No nation breeds a warmer blood for war,

And yet she calms them with her majesty.

No age hath ever wit refined so far,

And yet she calms them by her policy.

To her thy son must make his sacrifice,

If he will have the morning of his eyes.

Happy were he could finish forth his fate

In some unhaunted desert, most obscure

From all societies, from love and hate

Of worldly folk; then might be sleep secure;

Then wake again, and give God ever praise,

Content with hips and haws and bramble-berry;

In contemplation spending all his days,

And change of holy thoughts to make him merry;

Where, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush,

Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush.