That i kept my word he said

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,   

   Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses   

   Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,   

   Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;   

   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;   

   No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,   

   Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners   

   That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight   

   To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,   

   That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken   

   By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,   

   Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,   

   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even   

   Louder, and lifted his head:—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,   

   That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,   

   Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house   

   From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,   

   And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,   

   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

УОЛТЕР ДЕ ЛА МЭР

СЛУШАВШИЕ

(Перевод: Роман Дин)

«Есть тут кто-нибудь?» – Путник спрашивал,

В лунном свете в дверь стуча;

Конь его на поляне, в подлесье,

Фыркал, с голоду жуя.

И вспорхнула, из башни, птица,

Над ним пролетев стремглав.

Вот уже во второй раз ударил он:

«Есть там кто-нибудь?» – прокричав.

Но никто не спустился к Путнику,

И не выглянул в окно, –

Всё увито плющом, – где уж сам не свой

Он стоял, побледнев лицом.

Лишь скопище призраков – слышало, –

Заблудшие в доме пустом, –

В безмолвии лунном, всё слушали

Тот голос в мире живом.

В отсветах лунных на лестнице темной,

Что в зал нежилой вела,

Слушали, сбившись, потрясшие воздух

Силой простые слова.

И почувствовал сердцем неладное:

Молчаньем ответ был на всё.

Пасся конь под листвою со звездами

Да щипал потемневший дерн.

Но громче тогда вдруг ударил в те

Двери и твердо сказал:

«Скажите, приехал, – и вот – без ответа,

Но данное слово – сдержал!»

От них – ни малейшего шороха,

Хоть эхом речь во тьме

Разносится гулко по тихому дому,

На деле, а не во сне.

Слышали: ловко вдел стремя он,

И о камень стук подков, –

И волной тишина накатилась,

Как затих вдалеке галоп.

_______

THE LISTENERS

by WALTER DE LA MARE (1873-1956)

‘Is there anybody there’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

• Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word,» he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.

УОЛТЕР ДЕ ЛА МЭР
СЛУШАВШИЕ
(Перевод: Роман Дин)

«Есть тут кто-нибудь?» – Путник спрашивал,
В лунном свете в дверь стуча;
Конь его на поляне, в подлесье,
Фыркал, с голоду жуя.

И вспорхнула, из башни, птица,
Над ним пролетев стремглав.
Вот уже во второй раз ударил он:
«Есть там кто-нибудь?» – прокричав.

Но никто не спустился к Путнику,
И не выглянул в окно, –
Всё увито плющом, – где уж сам не свой
Он стоял, побледнев лицом.

Лишь скопище призраков – слышало, –
Заблудшие в доме пустом, –
В безмолвии лунном, всё слушали
Тот голос в мире живом.

В отсветах лунных на лестнице темной,
Что в зал нежилой вела,
Слушали, сбившись, потрясшие воздух
Силой, простые слова.

И почувствовал сердцем неладное:
Молчаньем ответ был на всё.
Пасся конь под листвою со звездами,
Да щипал потемневший дерн.

Но громче тогда вдруг ударил в те
Двери и твердо сказал:
«Скажите, приехал, – и вот – без ответа,
Но данное слово сдержал!»

От них – ни малейшего шороха,
Хоть эхом речь во тьме
Разносится гулко по тихому дому,
На деле, а не во сне.

Слышали: ловко вдел стремя он,
И о камень стук подков, –
И волной тишина накатилась,
Как затих вдалеке галоп.

---

THE LISTENERS
by WaltER DE LA MARE (1873-1956)

‘Is there anybody there’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.