Читать книгу Mortal Summer онлайн

4 страница из 11

Tomorrow for Gibraltar, then northwest,

Northwest, both night and day, till the ocean stream

Was conquered. Not a god had ever gone there,

Not one of these high seven, in the old

Dark sail time. Now, invisible to waves,

To men and birds, they watched twelve grimy sailors

Washing their clothes on deck; and wondered still

At the two wakes behind them, foam and funnel.

But who were these arriving, these gaunt three

On giant wings that folded as they fell

And staggered, then stood upright? Even now

Michael had dropped among them, with his archangel

Brethren, bony Gabriel and lank Raphael.

From nearer Asia, lonely a long while,

They had come flying, sick of the desert silence,

Sick of the centuries through which no lord,

No king of the host, had blessed them with command.

As orphaned eagles, missing their ancient’s cry,

They had come hither, hopeful of these seven,

Hopeful of noble company, of new act.

Now on the prow they gathered, and no sailor

Saw them; but Apollo did, and Artemis—

Fingering their bows—as Hermes reared