Минивер Чиви, всё презрев
Отроду, отощав и измучась,
Распалял свой праведный гнев
На небытие и злую участь.
Минивер обручён старине,
Когда меч блистал и конь горячился –
Кабы паладина узрел во броне,
В пляс бы пустился.
Минивер, сторонясь тягот,
Воздыхая о днях минувших,
Фивы увидеть мечтал, Камелот
И к Приаму примкнувших.
Минивер – со славою на ножах:
Сошла волна фимиама.
Скорбел, что Романтика во бомжах,
И Музы клянчат у храма.
Минивер Медичи обожал –
Не за страх, но за совесть.
Он безотрывно бы согрешал,
Им уподобясь.
Минивер клял скукоту застоя,
Мундиров табачный цвет.
Грезил о рыцарском ратном строе,
Коего больше нет.
Минивер денежки презирал,
Однако без них туговато было.
Минивер думал и размышлял –
Противоречье его томило.
Минивер Чиви, с судьбою споря,
Скорбел: удар её жесток.
Скрёб в затылке, кряхтел – и с горя
Делал большой глоток.
[2005]
MINIVER CHEEVY
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.