Песнь Италии (из романа "Негасимое пламя", 1977)
Истории Края Времени

Upon a windy night of stars that fell
At the wind's spoken spell
Swept with sharp strokes of agonizing light
From the clear gulf of night
Between the fixed and fallen glories one
Against my vision shone
More fair and fearful and divine than they
That measure night and day
And worthier worship; and within mine eyes
The formless folded skies
Took shape and were unfolded like as flowers.
And I beheld the hours
As maidens and the days as labouring men
And the soft nights again
As wearied women to their own souls wed
And ages as the dead.
And over these living and them that died
From one to the other side
A lordlier light than comes of earth or air
Made the world's future fair.
A woman like to love in face but not
A thing of transient lot —
And like to hope but having hold on truth —
And like to joy or youth
Save that upon the rock her feet were set —
And like what men forget
Faith innocence high thought laborious peace —
And yet like none of these
Being not as these are mortal but with eyes
That sounded the deep skies
And clove like wings or arrows their clear way
Through night and dawn and day —
So fair a presence over star and sun
Stood making these as one.
For in the shadow of her shape were all
Darkened and held in thrall
So mightier rose she past them; and I felt
Whose form whose likeness knelt
With covered hair and face and clasped her knees;
And knew the first of these
Was Freedom and the second Italy.
And what sad words said she
For mine own grief I knew not nor had heart
Therewith to bear my part
And set my songs to sorrow; nor to hear
How tear by sacred tear
Fell from her eyes as flowers or notes that fall
In some slain feaster's hall
Where in mid music and melodious breath
Men singing have seen death.
So fair so lost so sweet she knelt; or so
In our lost eyes below
Seemed to us sorrowing; and her speech being said
Fell as one who falls dead.
And for a little she too wept who stood
Above the dust and blood
And thrones and troubles of the world; then spake
As who bids dead men wake.
«Because the years were heavy on thy head;
Because dead things are dead;
Because thy chosen on hill-side city and plain
Are shed as drops of rain;
Because all earth was black all heaven was blind
And we cast out of mind;
Because men wept saying _Freedom_ knowing of thee
Child that thou wast not free;
Because wherever blood was not shame was
Where thy pure foot did pass;
Because on Promethean rocks distent
Thee fouler eagles rent;
Because a serpent stains with slime and foam
This that is not thy Rome;
Child of my womb whose limbs were made in me
Have I forgotten thee?
In all thy dreams through all these years on wing
Hast thou dreamed such a thing?
The mortal mother-bird outsoars her nest
The child outgrows the breast;
But suns as stars shall fall from heaven and cease
Ere we twain be as these;
Yea utmost skies forget their utmost sun
Ere we twain be not one.
My lesser jewels sewn on skirt and hem
I have no heed of them
Obscured and flawed by sloth or craft or power;
But thou that wast my flower
The blossom bound between my brows and worn
In sight of even and morn
From the last ember of the flameless west
To the dawn's baring breast —
I were not Freedom if thou wert not free
Nor thou wert Italy.
O mystic rose ingrained with blood impearled
With tears of all the world!
The torpor of their blind brute-ridden trance
Kills England and chills France;
And Spain sobs hard through strangling blood; and snows
Hide the huge eastern woes.
But thou twin-born with morning nursed of noon
And blessed of star and moon!
What shall avail to assail thee any more
From sacred shore to shore?
Have Time and Love not knelt down at thy feet
Thy sore thy soiled thy sweet
Fresh from the flints and mire of murderous ways
And dust of travelling days?
Hath Time not kissed them Love not washed them fair
And wiped with tears and hair?
Though God forget thee I will not forget;
Though heaven and earth be set
Against thee O unconquerable child
Abused abased reviled
Lift thou not less from no funereal bed
Thine undishonoured head;
Love thou not less by lips of thine once prest
This my now barren breast;
Seek thou not less being well assured thereof
O child my latest love.
For now the barren bosom shall bear fruit
Songs leap from lips long mute
And with my milk the mouths of nations fed
Again be glad and red
That were worn white with hunger and sorrow and thirst;
And thou most fair and first
Thou whose warm hands and sweet live lips I feel
Upon me for a seal
Thou whose least looks whose smiles and little sighs
Whose passionate pure eyes
Whose dear fair limbs that neither bonds could bruise
Nor hate of men misuse
Whose flower-like breath and bosom O my child
O mine and undefiled
Fill with such tears as burn like bitter wine
These mother's eyes of mine
Thrill with huge passions and primeval pains
The fullness of my veins
O sweetest head seen higher than any stands
I touch thee with mine hands
I lay my lips upon thee O thou most sweet
To lift thee on thy feet
And with the fire of mine to fill thine eyes;
I say unto thee Arise».