William Butler Yeats The Hosting of the Sidhe1 (1893)
The host is riding from Knockarea2 And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare3; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing ´twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away.
Větrná jízda Od hor se žene ta jízda stinná dál přes hrob Cloothy znavené, Caoilte má vlasy z plamene a Niamh volá Jinam, pojď jinam: zbav srdce své snů smrtelných. Vichry se vzbouzí, listí se točí, vlasy nám vlají a třpytí se oči, dech máme prudký a bledost na lících, pohyb je výzvou a rty vítr krájejí. Pohlédni na nás a život změní běh, zmateme paže tvé, jež snily o činech, zmateme srdce tvé, jež znalo naději. Ženou se dál, kde noc se v den vzpíná a nejsi spíš sám mámením? Caoilte má vlasy v plameni a Niamh volá Jinam, pojď jinam.
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