The Haunted Computer and the Android Pope

Name: The Haunted Computer and the Android Pope
Rating: 5 (2 reviews)
Author: Рэй Дуглас Брэдбери

Автор

Рэй Дуглас Брэдбери

Год написания книги

2018

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With a harrowing of light

And seeds our blood with sun,

And thus we

Put out the night

And then

Put out the night.

Tears make an end of things;

So weep, yes, weep.

But joy says, after that, not done …

No, not by any means. Not done!

Take breath and shout it out!

That laugh, that cry which says: Begin again,

So all’s reborn, begun!

Now hear this, Eden’s child,

Remember in thy green Earth heaven,

All beauty-shod:

Joy is the grace we say to God.

They Have Not Seen the Stars (#ulink_19374315-59c5-5749-b1a7-0156ca749c64)

They have not seen the stars,

Not one, not one

Of all the creatures on this world

In all the ages since the sands first touched the wind

Not one, not one,

No beast of all the beasts has stood

On meadowland or plain or hill

And known the thrill of looking at those fires;

Our soul admires what they, oh, they, have never known.

Five billion years have flown in turnings of the spheres

But not once in all those years

Has lion, dog, or bird that sweeps the air

Looked there, oh, look. Looked there, ah God, the stars;

Oh, look, look there!

It is as if all time had never been,

Or universe or sun or moon or simple morning light.

Their tragedy was mute and blind, and so remains. Our sight?

Yes, ours? To know now what we are.

But think of it, then choose—now, which?

Born to raw Earth, inhabiting a scene

And all of it, no sooner viewed, erased, gone blind

As if these miracles had never been.

Vast circlings of sounding light, of fire and frost,

And all so quickly seen then quickly lost?

Or us, in fragile flesh, with God’s new eyes

That lift and comprehend and search the skies?

We watch the seasons drifting in the lunar tide

And know the years, remembering what’s died.

Oh, yes, perhaps some birds some nights

Have felt Orion rise and tuned their flights

And turned southward

Because star-charts were printed in their sweet genetic dreams—