Фрэнк Белнап Лонг «В античном духе»

I'm afraid for every slender dream

Has burst its gheath, and were I now to blow

The ancient pipe the ancient god would seem

A form gigantic, and I fear him so.

His hoofbeats are too rhythmic, are too loud;

They cletter in my brain, and when at night

I draw the sheets, I seem to draw my shroud:

The goat would trample me if I should fight.

But you a steadfast, jealous watch will keep.

You tender me your lips and fallen hair

As safeguards: there is solace when I sleep

Beside you, O compassionately fair!

But even on your arms there falls a shade —

Dear, hold me close! I am afraid... afraid.