The voice of the herd rises from the fields;
In the bushes the robins sing,
And a sweet aroma flows
From the whitened apple-trees of the garden.
The flowers gaze with tender melancholy,
Innocently pure, like spring,
Shedding fragrant dust,
The seeds of their rosy fruit.
Sister of the flowers, friend of the rose,
Look me in the eye,
Initiate a life-giving reverie,
Inspire my heart with song.
С полей несется голос стада,
В кустах малиновки звенят,
И с побелевших яблонь сада
Струится сладкий аромат.
Цветы глядят с тоской влюбленной,
Безгрешно чисты, как весна,
Роняя с пылью благовонной
Плодов румяных семена.
Сестра цветов, подруга розы,
Очами в очи мне взгляни,
Навей живительные грезы
И в сердце песню зарони!
«How's life with the other woman? / Simpler, yeah? A stroke of oars / by a long coastline, and even / memory of me unmoors as a floating island (in the / sky, not on the waters)! Poor / spirits, souls! You should be solely / sisters and not paramours. How's life with an ordinary / ...»
«Chénier went up to meet the guillotine, / And I'm alive. That is a dreadful sin. / There are times that steel over everyone. / He is no bard who sings as bullets spin. / He is no father, trembling at the gate, / Whose arms rip battle-armor off his son. / There are times when the sun ...»
«Ah, longing for the homeland's air... / A languor long exposed as hooey! / I absolutely do not care / about where I am absolutely alone. Nor down what street of stone / I shlep a simple shopping basket / to a house that doesn't know it's home / any more than hospital o...»
«Are you alive and well still, momma? / I am alright. Greetings. Tonight / I hope your cottage is still bathing / In that ineffable evening light. I've heard you're awful worried for me, / That you've been hiding your distress, / And often walk out on the highway / In your old-fashione...»