From the legends of the eld,
From the moonlit eventide,
Like shadow of a shade
Comes a vision of a god.
He is old as world and time,
But his eyes are bright and fair
Like Ceylon sapphires shine,
Full of love and yet – despair.
Wind is blowing by his side,
Night approaches at his feet;
He is sitting peace and quiet
Holding whistle made of reed.
And above the muted land,
Up the sky and from the trees,
Comes a horned shape of light
Shedding grievous bloody tears.
Pan will play his fairest tune
And the trees will softly sing,
And a withered thorn will bloom,
And the stones will cry for him.
Pan Пан Врубеля
© Copyright: Elf, 2000
Свидетельство о публикации №100120600232
Свидетельство о публикации №100120600232
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