Как Ричард Кори покидал хоромы,
То с тротуара видел местный люд:
Он джентльмен с подошвы до короны,
Любезно-чист, величественно-худ.
Спокоен был, разумно одевался,
Был человеком, если говорил,
Взволнован был, когда к нам обращался:
"Good-morning" - и блестяще проходил.
Казалось, - короля он был богаче –
И вышколен и в грациях мастак:
В порядке, думали мы, не иначе,
Мы все хотели, чтобы нам бы так.
Так мы работали и ждали света,
Живя без мяса, с думой о жратве;
А Ричард Кори, тихой ночью лета
Остался дома с пулей в голове.
*
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace;
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
*
Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935)