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 with lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
More
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet the Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters 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 a 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 crowd and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose 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!
(By Rudyard Kipling)
Нам это стихотворение вчера англичанка выдала, сказала, что его рассказ наизусть и будет зачётом... Я в шоке, да.)
Но за стихотворение спасибо. Я, конечно, где-то на него натыкалась, похоже. Но не помнила, естественно.
Заодно вчера нашла в библиотеке Мошкова аж пять разных переводов... И таки лучшие у Маршака и Лозинского, да.)))
А теперь ищу художественное прочтение... Нашла вчера кое-чего, но где-то шипит страшно, а где-то американское прочтение. Меня от этого "мэстер" перекарёживает.