Шекспир. Сонет 44. Скетч по мотивам

О, если бы я был
не плоть, а дух –
преграды не было бы
для слиянья двух!
Но мое тело убивает мысль,
что я - не мысль,
ну да и ты – не дух.
Воображение уносит вдаль
и за леса, и за моря… Печаль.
Печаль и скорбь -
юдоль неповоротливых стихий,
что слезы,
превращенные в стихи.



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If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way,
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee,
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.