Дом на холме. Эдвин Арлингтон Робинсон

      Down by the flash of the restless water

      The dim White Ship like a white bird lay;

      Laughing at life and the world they sought her,

      And out she swung to the silvering bay.

      Then off they flew on their roystering way,

      And the keen moon fired the light foam flying

      Up from the flood where the faint stars play,

      And the bones of the brave in the wave are lying.

      'T was a king's fair son with a king's fair daughter,

      And full three hundred beside, they say, —

      Revelling on for the lone, cold slaughter

      So soon to seize them and hide them for aye;

      But they danced and they drank and their souls grew gay,

      Nor ever they knew of a ghoul's eye spying

      Their splendor a flickering phantom to stray

      Where the bones of the brave in the wave are lying.

      Through the mist of a drunken dream they brought her

      (This wild white bird) for the sea-fiend's prey:

      The pitiless reef in his hard clutch caught her,

      And hurled her down where the dead men stay.

      A torturing silence of wan dismay —

      Shrieks and curses of mad souls dying —