Вітер у вербах
The Piper at the Gates of Dawn
ThentheMole,withastrongpullononeoar,swungtheboatroundandletthefullstreambearthemdownagainwhitheritwould,theirquestnowhappilyended.
"Ifeelstrangelytired,Rat,"saidtheMole,leaningwearilyoverhisoars,astheboatdrifted."It’sbeingupallnight,you’llsay,perhaps;butthat’snothing.Wedoasmuchhalfthenightsoftheweek,atthistimeoftheyear.No;IfeelasifIhadbeenthroughsomethingveryexcitingandratherterrible,anditwasjustover;andyetnothingparticularhashappened."
"Orsomethingverysurprisingandsplendidandbeautiful,"murmuredtheRat,leaningbackandclosinghiseyes."Ifeeljustasyoudo,Mole;simplydeadtired,thoughnotbody-tired.It’sluckywe’vegotthestreamwithus,totakeushome.Isn’titjollytofeelthesunagain,soakingintoone’sbones!Andharktothewindplayinginthereeds!"
"It’slikemusic—far-awaymusic,"saidtheMole,noddingdrowsily.
"SoIwasthinking,"murmuredtheRat,dreamfulandlanguid."Dance-music—theliltingsortthatrunsonwithoutastop—butwithwordsinit,too—itpassesintowordsandoutofthemagain—Icatchthematintervals—thenitisdance-musiconcemore,andthennothingbutthereeds’softthinwhispering."
"YouhearbetterthanI,"saidtheMolesadly."Icannotcatchthewords.
