На тропке средь разросшихся кустов,
Я с обручем своим играл, как вдруг
Услышал крик и звук чужих шагов.
Лишь только спрятался в кустах вокруг,
Как понял, кто шумел: из-за угла
Старуха прибежала во всю прыть,
Зубаста и морщиниста была.
Край красной шали куст смог зацепить,
Стащил, седые космы растрепав.
Глаза больны, под ними синева.
"О, Боже, где ребёнок?" - прокричав,
Заламывая руки, те слова,
Ушла обратно, скрыл её бурьян.
...Была ль то ведьма из заморских стран?
James Stephens
The Turn of the Road
I was playing with my hoop along the road
Just where the bushes are, when, suddenly,
There came a shout, -- I ran away and stowed
Myself beneath a bush, and watched to see
What made the noise, and then, around the bend,
I saw a woman running. She was old
And wrinkle-faced, and had big teeth. -- The end
Of her red shawl caught on a bush and rolled
Right off her, and her hair fell down. Her face
Was awful white, and both her eyes looked sick,
And she was talking queer. 'O God of Grace!'
Said she, 'where is the child?' and flew back quick
The way she came, and screamed, and shook her hands;
. . . Maybe she was a witch from foreign lands.
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