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[kentauris]

Оливер Херфорд ((1863–1935))
Мифологический зоопарк, Нью-Йорк, 1912

Oliver Herford 
The Mythological Zoo  

Из Библиотеки Гутенберга -- прелестная детская книжечка, надо сказать!
Я приволжу лишь некоторые стишки и картинки, и не в том порядке, в котором они даны в оригинале (там начинается с Медузы).
Об авторе, писателе и художнике, американце английского происхождения, см. в Википедии

Кентавр

The Centaur

The Centaur led a double life:
Two natures in perpetual strife
He had, that never could agree
On what the bill-of-fare should be;
For when the man-half set his heart
On taking dinner à la carte,
The horse was sure to cast his vote
Unswervingly for table d'OAT.
A pretty sort of life to lead;
The horse in time went off his feed,
The hungry man was nigh demented,
When one day—oatmeal was invented!

Медуза

Medusa

How did Medusa do her hair?
The question fills me with despair.
It must have caused her sore distress
That head of curling snakes to dress.
Whenever after endless toil
She coaxed it finally to coil,
The music of a Passing Band
Would cause each separate hair to stand
On end and sway and writhe and spit,—
She couldn't "do a thing with it."
And, being woman and aware
Of such disaster to her hair,
What could she do but petrify
All whom she met, with freezing eye?

Пегас

Pegasus

The ancients made no end of fuss
About a horse named Pegasus,
A famous flyer of his time,
Who often soared to heights sublime,
When backed by some poetic chap
For the Parnassus Handicap.
Alas for fame! The other day
I saw an ancient "one-hoss shay"
Stop at the Mont de Piété,
And, lo! alighting from the same,
A bard, whom I forbear to name.
Noting the poor beast's rusty hide
(The horse, I mean), methought I spied
What once were wings. Incredulous,
I cried, "Can this be Pegasus!"

Сатир

The Satyr

The Satyr lived in times remote,
A shape half-human and half-goat,
Who, having all Man's faults combined
With a Goat's nature unrefined,
Was not what you would call a bright
Example or a shining light.
Far be it from me to condone
The Satyr's sins, yet I must own
I like to think there were a few
Young Satyrs who to Heaven flew,
And when Saint Peter, thunder browed,
Seeing them, cried, "No goats allowed!"
Although the gate slammed quickly to,
Somehow their human halves got through;
Whereat the kindly saint relented,
And that's how Cherubs were invented.