"Dunsany, Lord - Fifty-one Tales" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dunsany Lord)

valley, and only seemed to have a little smoke, and the sun
caught the smoke and turned it golden, so that it looked
like an old Italian picture where angels walk in the
foreground and the rest is a blaze of gold. And beyond, as
one could tell by the lie of land although one could not see
through the golden smoke, I knew that there lay the paths of
the roving ships.
All round there lay a patchwork of small fields all over
the slopes of the hills, and the snow had come upon them
tentatively, but already the birds of the waste had moved to
the sheltered places for every omen boded more to fall. Far
away some little hills blazed like an aureate bulwark broken
off by age and fallen from the earthward rampart of
Paradise. And aloof and dark the mountains stared
unconcernedly seawards.
And when I saw those grey and watchful mountains sitting
where they sat while the cities of the civilization of Araby
and Asia arose like crocuses, and like crocuses fell, I
wondered for how long there would be smoke in the valley and
little fields on the hills.













The Unpasturable Fields




Thus spake the mountains: "Behold us, even us; the old ones,
the grey ones, that wear the feet of Time. Time on our
rocks shall break his staff and stumble: and still we shall
sit majestic, even as now, hearing the sound of the sea, our
old coeval sister, who nurses the bones of her children and
weeps for the things she has done.
"Far, far, we stand above all things; befriending the
little cities until they grow old and leave us to go among
the myths.
"We are the most imperishable mountains."
And softly the clouds foregathered from far places, and
crag on crag and mountain upon mountain in the likeness of