Вітер у вербах
The Piper at the Gates of Dawn
Thenthemurmuroftheapproachingweirbegantoholdtheair,andtheyfeltaconsciousnessthattheywerenearingtheend,whateveritmightbe,thatsurelyawaitedtheirexpedition.
Awidehalf-circleoffoamandglintinglightsandshiningshouldersofgreenwater,thegreatweirclosedthebackwaterfrombanktobank,troubledallthequietsurfacewithtwirlingeddiesandfloatingfoam-streaks,anddeadenedallothersoundswithitssolemnandsoothingrumble.Inmidmostofthestream,embracedintheweir’sshimmeringarm-spread,asmallislandlayanchored,fringedclosewithwillowandsilverbirchandalder.Reserved,shy,butfullofsignificance,ithidwhateveritmightholdbehindaveil,keepingittillthehourshouldcome,and,withthehour,thosewhowerecalledandchosen.
Slowly,butwithnodoubtorhesitationwhatever,andinsomethingofasolemnexpectancy,thetwoanimalspassedthroughthebroken,tumultuouswaterandmooredtheirboatattheflowerymarginoftheisland.Insilencetheylanded,andpushedthroughtheblossomandscentedherbageandundergrowththatleduptothelevelground,tilltheystoodonalittlelawnofamarvellousgreen,setroundwithNature’sownorchard-trees—crab-apple,wildcherry,andsloe.
"Thisistheplaceofmysong-dream,theplacethemusicplayedtome,"whisperedtheRat,asifinatrance.
