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Г.Ф. Лавкрафт: Жизнь
С.Т. Джоши
по изданию Necronomicon Press, 1996
9. Непрерывное лихорадочное карябанье (1917-1919 [II])
Here all is dead.
The charnel plain a spectral legion knows,
That cannot find repose,
And blank, grey vistas endless stretch ahead,
Mud-carpeted,
And stain'd with red,
Where Valour's sons for Freedom bled.
And in the scorching sky
The carrion ravens fly,
Scanning the treeless waste that rots around,
Where trenches yawn, and craters pit the ground.
And in the night the horn'd Astarte gleams,
And sheds her evil beams.
I hate no man, and yet they say
That I must fight and kill;
That I must suffer day by day
To please a master's will.
I murmured: "For three thousand years
Is that tale done, yet bitter tears
Come to me now - to clasp and close
The delicate ecstasy of those
That vanished by no fault of mine.
Radiant, remote, these friends of thine,
So long ago! Another says
That in Pieria many days
The vintage through an autumn mist
Shone purple amid amethyst,
While in their vines one eve of gold
The tortured god walked as of old,
Bacchus, no doubt".
Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.
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Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души"
М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"