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

When travellers from London entered Arcady they lamented one
to another the death of Pan.
And anon they saw him lying stiff and still.
Horned Pan was still and the dew was on his fur; he had
not the look of a live animal. And then they said, "It is
true that Pan is dead."
And, standing melancholy by that huge prone body, they
looked for long at memorable Pan.
And evening came and a small star appeared.
And presently from a hamlet of some Arcadian valley, with
a sound of idle song, Arcadian maidens came.
And, when they saw there, suddenly in the twilight, that
old recumbent god, they stopped in their running and
whispered among themselves. "How silly he looks," they
said, and thereat they laughed a little.
And at the sound of their laughter Pan leaped up and the
gravel flew from his hooves.
And, for as long as the travellers stood and listened,
the crags and the hill-tops of Arcady rang with the sounds
of pursuit.




The Sphinx at Gizeh




I saw the other day the Sphinx's painted face.
She had painted her face in order to ogle Time.
And he has spared no other painted face in all the world
but hers.
Delilah was younger than she, and Delilah is dust.
Time hath loved nothing but this worthless painted face.
I do not care that she is ugly, nor that she has painted
her face, so that she only lure his secret from Time.
Time dallies like a fool at her feet when he should be
smiting cities.
Time never wearies of her silly smile.
There are temples all about her that he has forgotten to
spoil.
I saw an old man go by, and Time never touched him.
Time that has carried away the seven gates of Thebes!
She has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she
had hoped to oppress him with the Pyramids.
He lies there in the sand with his foolish hair all
spread about her paws.
If she ever finds his secret we will put out his eyes, so
that he shall find no more our beautiful things -- there are