Роберт Сервис. Его звали Билл

К могиле был доставлен гроб
В полдневный зной и жар,
И быстро отработал поп
Свой скромный гонорар.
Мы, как положено, на гроб –
По горсточке земли,
И старый Билл навек усоп
От всех вдали.

Он жил холостяком, тая
Секрет и в смертный час;
Что у него была семья –
Не знал никто из нас.
Он был уныл и одинок.
Когда пришёл к концу –
Явился с надписью венок:
«Любимому Отцу».

Толкуют, будто сам же Билл
Велел венок прислать.
Родня не знает: он почил –
Или не хочет знать.
Он был угрюм и седовлас,
Подслеповат и хром...
Мечтал, что дети в смертный час
Подумают о нём.

Быть может, вспомнили отца,
А может быть, и нет.
Скорбят ли детские сердца –
Никто не даст ответ.
Печальный совершён обряд,
Никто не пролил слёз.
Лишь буквы надписи горят
В венке из роз.

ALIAS BILL

We bore him to his boneyard lot
One afternoon at three;
The clergyman was on the spot
To earn his modest fee.
We sprinkled on his coffin lid
The customary loam,
And so old Bill was snugly slid
To his last home.

A lonesome celibate, we thought,
For close as calm was he;
We never guessed that he had got
A lawful family,
Till lo! we saw a gorgeous wreath
Reposing on his bier,
With on a scarlet scroll beneath:
"To Father Dear."

He ordered it hisself, they said,
Before he had to go.
His folks don't know that he is dead –
Maybe they'll never know.
His step was frail, his hair was grey,
But though his sight was dim,
He liked to kid hisself that they
Still thought of him.

Maybe they did: we never knew,
And he would never tell;
Perhaps their hearts were broken too –
He was, I think . . . Ah well,
We left him in his boneyard lot
With none to shed a tear,
And just a wreath, the one he bought:
"To Father Dear."