Эдгар Аллан По. Долина печалей и смут

Эдгар Аллан По.  Долина печалей и смут


Прежде  был пустынен дол –
Всех война взяла в подол.
Улыбался лишь погост,
Отвечая взглядам звезд.
Те на башнях с высоты
Стерегут свои цветы,
Меж которых злая лень
В желтый полдень ищет тень.
Нынче всякий видеть мог
Пыль столбом вдоль всех дорог,
В суетной печали лог;
Все бежит! Лишь ветер стих,
Будто чью-то мысль постиг.
Ах, не ветер-празднослов
Дерзок в роще меж стволов,
Как рычание прибоя близ Оркнейских островов;
Ах, не ветер-лежебока
Вдоль Святых Небес жестоко
Будет тучи гнать с востока,
И фиалки вспыхнут враз
Сонмом человечьих глаз,
Вздрогнет мальва (помоги ей!)
Над безвестною могилой;
Пестрым морем разлиты,
Плачут росами цветы,
Чем-то им могилка эта дорога.
Вечны звезды, росы-слезы, жемчуга… .





The Valley of Unrest

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE


Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
External dews come down in drops.
They weep:—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

1845

 

. The Valley of Unrest

Far away — far away —
Far away — as far at least
Lies that valley as the day
Down within the golden east —
All things lovely — are not they
Far away — far away?;

It is called the valley Nis.
And a Syriac tale there is
Thereabout which Time hath said
Shall not be interpreted.
Something about Satan’s dart —
Something about angel wings —
Much about a broken heart —
All about unhappy things:
But “the valley Nis” at best
Means “the valley of unrest.”;

Once it smil’d a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell,
Having gone unto the wars —
And the sly, mysterious stars,
With a visage full of meaning,
O’er the unguarded flowers were leaning:
Or the sun ray dripp’d all red
Thro’ the tulips overhead,
Then grew paler as it fell
On the quiet Asphodel.;

Now the unhappy shall confess
Nothing there is motionless:
Helen, like thy human eye
There th’ uneasy violets lie —
There the reedy grass doth wave
Over the old forgotten grave —
One by one from the tree top
There the eternal dews do drop —
There the vague and dreamy trees
Do roll like seas in northern breeze
Around the stormy Hebrides —
There the gorgeous clouds do fly,
Rustling everlastingly,
Through the terror-stricken sky,
Rolling like a waterfall
O’er th’ horizon’s fiery wall —
There the moon doth shine by night
With a most unsteady light —
There the sun doth reel by day
“Over the hills and far away.”

Edgar Allan Poe

Originally Published in 1831

Filed Under: The Poe Museum Blog