В долине

Я жил в долине с юных лет,
С болота ночью слышал звон,
Девицы бледной видел свет,
Мелькал её одежды след
Через тростник на свет окон.

Росли там разные цветы,
У каждого своё лицо,
И голоса из темноты
Звучали тихо сквозь кусты
И подходили на крыльцо,

И говорили каждый раз
О многом, сквозь туман всегда.
Мы слышали  обрывки фраз,
Пока не прервала рассказ,
Мелькнув, сгоревшая звезда.

Однажды шёл я по росе,
Где обитало нечто, но
Я видел птиц во всей красе,
Цветы – с мелодиями все,
Там птица и цветок – одно.

Сейчас я знаю, почему
В цветах есть запах, в птицах звон.
Не зря я вслушивался в тьму,
Живя по сердцу и уму -
Ночь – не напрасный долгий сон.

***
Вяч. Толстов

14. - In a Vale

WHEN I was young, we dwelt in a vale
  By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
  Across the reeds to a window light.

The fen had every kind of bloom,
  And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
  Each came singly unto her place,

But all came every night with the mist;
  And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
  That the stars were almost faded away

Before the last went, heavy with dew,
  Back to the place from which she came—
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
  Where bird and flower were one and the same.

And thus it is I know so well
  Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
  Nor vainly listen all the night long.