"Dunsany, Lord - Idle Days On The Yann" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dunsany Lord)

the sun was a ruddy gold, but a faint mist cloaked the
jungle, lying low, and into it poured the smoke of the
little jungle cities, and the smoke of them met together in
the mist and joined into one haze, which became purple, and
was lit by the sun, as the thoughts of men become hallowed
by some great and sacred thing. Some times one column from
a lonely house would rise up higher than the cities' smoke,
and gleam by itself in the sun.
And now as the sun's last rays were nearly level, we saw
the sight that I had come to see, for from two mountains
that stood on either shore two cliffs of pink marble came
out into the river, all glowing in the light of the low sun,
and they were quite smooth and of mountainous altitude, and
they nearly met, and Yann went tumbling between them and
found the sea.
And this was Bar-Wul-Yann, the Gate of Yann, and in the
distance through that barrier's gap I saw the azure
indescribable sea, where little fishing-boats went gleaming
by.
And the sun set, and the brief twilight came, and the
exultation of the glory of Bar-Wul-Yann was gone, yet still
the pink cliffs glowed, the fairest marvel that the eye
beheld -- and this in a land of wonders. And soon the
twilight gave place to the coming out of stars, and the
colours of Bar-Wul-Yann went dwindling away. And the sight
of those cliffs was to me as some chord of music that a
master's hand had launched from the violin, and which
carries to Heaven or Faery the tremulous spirits of men.
And now by the shore they anchored and went no further,
for they were sailors of the river and not of the sea, and
knew the Yann but not the tides beyond.
And the time was come when the captain and I must part,
he to go back to his fair Belzoond in sight of the distant
peaks of the Hian Min, and I to find my way by strange means
back to those hazy fields that all poets know, wherein stand
small mysterious cottages through whose windows, looking
westwards, you may see the fields of men, and looking
eastwards see glittering elfin mountains, tipped with snow,
going range on range into the region of Myth, and beyond it
into the kingdom of Fantasy, which pertain to the Lands of
Dream. Long we regarded one another, knowing that we should
meet no more, for my fancy is weakening as the years slip
by, and I go ever more seldom into the Lands of Dream. Then
we clasped hands, uncouthly on his part, for it is not the
method of greeting in his country, and he commended my soul
to the care of his own gods, to his little lesser gods, the
humble ones, to the gods that bless Belzoond.