Перевод стихотворения Гнев

“Wrath” was the name of that renowned sword.
We thought its potent master must have let it
Crush anyone, be they a peasant, lord,
Or just some fool, incautiously pigheaded.

Apparently, Wrath never came to rest
Until defeating foes in bloody bluster.
We were intrigued, excited, and impressed
By how managed to survive its master?

He must have been the greatest warrior indeed
If he’s been handling Wrath for all his life.
“Please, tell us: what is it you need
To do if you’re surrounded by strife?”

He looked at us and uttered with a sigh:
“Having a sword of such tremendous power,
Judicious one should be. This is why
Wrath almost never left its cozy cover.”

It is so easy to release your sword!
And yet impossible to turn back hasty doings.
So keep Wrath sheathed and use instead a Word,
Quenching a fire in lieu of leaving ruins.

His eyes were sparkling and the voice was loud,
And all of us were contemplating, startled.
A mighty warrior he was without doubt:
The best fight is the one that never started.