Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)
Noctambule
Zut! it's two o'clock. See! the lights are jumping. Finish up your bock, Time we all were humping. Waiters stack the chairs, Pile them on the tables; Let us to our lairs Underneath the gables. Up the old Boul' Mich' Climb with steps erratic. Steady . . . how I wish I was in my attic! Full am I with cheer; In my heart the joy stirs; Couldn't be the beer, Must have been the oysters. In obscene array Garbage cans spill over; How I wish that they Smelled as sweet as clover! Charing women wait; Cafes drop their shutters; Rats perambulate Up and down the gutters. Down the darkened street Market carts are creeping; Horse with wary feet, Red-faced driver sleeping. Loads of vivid greens, Carrots, leeks, potatoes, Cabbages and beans, Turnips and tomatoes. Pair of dapper chaps, Cigarettes and sashes, Stare at me, perhaps Desperate Apachès. "Needn't bother me, Jolly well you know it; Parceque je suis Quartier Latin poet. "Give you villanelles, Madrigals and lyrics; Ballades and rondels, Odes and panegyrics. Poet pinched and poor, Pricked by cold and hunger; Trouble's troubadour, Misery's balladmonger." Think how queer it is! Every move I'm making, Cosmic gravity's Center I am shaking; Oh, how droll to feel (As I now am feeling), Even as I reel, All the world is reeling. Reeling too the stars, Neptune and Uranus, Jupiter and Mars, Mercury and Venus; Suns and moons with me, As I'm homeward straying, All in sympathy Swaying, swaying, swaying. Lord! I've got a head. Well, it's not surprising. I must gain my bed Ere the sun be rising; When the merry lark In the sky is soaring, I'll refuse to hark, I'll be snoring, snoring. Strike a sulphur match... Ha! at last my garret. Fumble at the latch, Close the door and bar it. Bed, you graciously Wait, despite my scorning... So, bibaciously Mad old world, good morning.
Robert William Service’s other poems:
894
