Из английской поэзии. Переводы Игоря Куберского
by Thomas Hardy
You, Morningtide Star, now are steady-eyed, over the east,
I know it as if I saw you.
You, beeches, engrave on the sky your thin twigs, even the least;
Had I paper and pencil I'd draw you/
You, Meadow, are white with your counterpane cover of dew,
I see it as if I were there;
You, Churchyard, are lightening faint from the shade of the yew,
The name creeping out everywhere.