Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Revolt
I will go riding, riding! away from the cities of men!
Into the heart of freedom I will hurl myself with the free!
I will race on the sun-swept mountains, I will dive through the
rock-hewn glen,
I will cleave between hills billowing green like the surge of
the sea!
(Never shalt thou go riding! but live as man says man must,
Or if thou flee to the open thou shalt find thy spirit to fail,
And shrink as thou treadest the levels where the path has been
beaten in dust
From the glory that thrills the heaven-high hills, and the dark
of the vale.)
I will go sailing, sailing! on waters that leave no track,
I will follow the path of the sunglow to the ultimate line of
light,
I will plunge where the ocean-giants upcurl their hollows of black,
I will take the way of the wind-blown spray in the dread of the
night!
(Never shalt thou go sailing! but still in the cities of men
Thou shalt spin thy thread of existence in a pattern not thine
own,
Or lost on the desolate waters thy heart shall sicken again,
For what man bears his burden who dares be adrift and alone?)
I will go flying, flying! and scale the steeps of the air
To play with lightning and gather a cloud from the molten noon,
I will find the source of the streams of the sun to lave my feet
and my hair,
And stoop to drink at the brimming brink of the wells of the
moon!
(Never shalt thou go flying! but stay in thy agelong bond
And stifle the starting pinions that scorn the way of the feet,
Or if thy wild young folly still dreams to compass what lies beyond
When thou clasp a cloud thou shalt find it thy shroud and thy
winding-sheet.)
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