ßêùî òè ìîæåø çáåðåãòè ñâ³é ðîçóì,
Êîëè áåçóìñòâî óçÿëî â ê³ëüöå,
Ïðîñòèø ÷óæó çíåâ³ðó ³ ï³äîçðó,
Õî÷ â ïëàíàõ çàêëàäåøñÿ ³ íà öå;
ßêùî ÷åêàòè â쳺ø áåç óòîìè,
Íà âðàæó ëþòü íå ðîçëþòèøñÿ òè,
Îááð³õàíèé - íå çáðåøåø ³ ïðè òîìó
íå ñòàíåø íàäòî ìóäðèì ÷è ñâÿòèì:
ßêùî ó ìð³ÿõ ðîçóìó íå âòðàòèø,
À â ðîçäóìàõ íå çãóáèø õèñò äî ä³é,
² ñòð³íåø ïåðåìîãó ÷è ïîðàçêó
Áåç çàéâî¿ äîâ³ðè ò³é ³ ò³é;
ßêùî ãîòîâèé òè, ùî íàéùèð³ø³
Òâî¿ ñëîâà íà ïàñòêó îáåðíóòü
² çãàíüáëÿòü ñïðàâó, ùî òè ¿é íàéë³ïø³
Ðîêè â³ääàâ; ÿêùî íå çðàäèø ïóòü:
ßêùî òè ìîæåø âñ³ íàáóòêè é ñòàòêè
dzáðàòè é ðèçèêíóòè óñ³ìà,
Ïðîãðàòè âðàç ³ ïî÷èíàòü ñïî÷àòêó -
² âæå í³ ïàðè ç óñò ïðî òå, ùî ìàâ;
ßêùî òè ìîæåø ñåðöå, íåðâè, æèëè
Òàê âèñòàëèòü, ùîá äîñÿãàòü ìåòè,
Êîëè ç ðîêàìè íå ñòຠâæå ñèëè
² ëèøå âîëÿ çìóøóº: "Iäè!":
ßêùî ïðè êîðîë³ ãîâîðèø ïðàâäó,
ßêùî ñåáå íå âòðàòèø ó þðá³,
ßêùî í³ âîðîã, àí³ äðóã íàéêðàùèé
ͳ÷èì íå çäàòí³ äîøêóëÿòü òîá³;
ßêùî â ïóò³ õâèëèíè íåâáëàãàíí³
Òè äî ñåêóíäè âèâàæèâ â óì³,
Çåìëÿ - òâîÿ. ² âñå, ùî â í³é ³ íà í³é.
Á³ëüø òîãî, òè - Ëþäèíà, ñèíó ì³é!
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
àäðåñà: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=636530
Ðóáðèêà: Ïîåòè÷í³ ïåðåêëàäè
äàòà íàäõîäæåííÿ 17.01.2016
àâòîð: MiShura