Had I but known, had I but realized,
From out my window I'd have never peered
As that dashing young dandy
Came trotting down our street
With his jaunty hat askew,
On his dun-hued horse a-prancing,
Hooves a-clatter, mane a-flutter,
Right before my window rearing!
Had I but known, had I but realized,
Would I have dressed up for him so,
Or taken crimson ribbon edged in gold
And woven it into my long braids;
Or risen early before dawn's light,
And rushed to the outskirts of town,
And gotten drenched to the knees in dew,
Or waited by the country lane,
By that dirt path where he might pass
Holding a pied falcon upon his fist?
Had I but known, had I but realized,
I'd not have stayed so late in the darkening night,
Sadly perched upon the zavalinka —
Upon that cozy mound nearby the well,
Lying in wait and wondering,
"Why has my darling as yet not come,
That his steed might drink from the icy spring?"!
Кабы знала я, кабы ведала,
Не смотрела бы из окошечка
Я на молодца разудалого,
Как он ехал по нашей улице,
Набекрень заломивши мурмолку,
Как лихого коня буланого,
Звонконогого, долгогривого,
Супротив окон на дыбы вздымал!
Кабы знала я, кабы ведала,
Для него бы я не рядилася,
С золотой каймой ленту алую
В косу длинную не вплетала бы,
Рано до свету не вставала бы,
За околицу не спешила бы,
В росе ноженьки не мочила бы,
На просёлок тот не глядела бы,
Не проедет ли тем просёлком он,
На руке держа пёстра сокола!
Кабы знала я, кабы ведала,
Не сидела бы поздно вечером,
Пригорюнившись, на завалине,
На завалине, близ колодезя,
Поджидаючи да гадаючи,
Не придёт ли он, ненаглядный мой,
Напоить коня студеной водой!
«“Sang de J6sus-Christ, enivrez moi.” / — St. Ignace de Loyola In my dreams I am close to arrogance, / Within me — are the temptations of sin, / I do not know chaste blessedness... / The flesh of Christ, sanctify me! Like the maiden who extinguished the icon lamp, / Rejecting the ...»
«I seek refuge at the threshold of the temple / Before the Virgin of All Treasures, / May your oriflamme / Shelter me from wicked beasts... I have run here from the noisy streets, / Where blind wings beat in the darkness, / Where the world’s temptations and the whole of Sevi...»
«“Nuestra pasión fué un trágico soneto. ” / — G. A. Becquer My love is a tragic sonnet. / In it, there is the imperious structure of the sonnet’s repetitions, / Of separations and meetings, and new returns — / The surf of Fate from the darkness of former years. The unconsummate...»
«Bitter and wild — the smell of the earth: / The fields are o’ergrown with dark carnations! / Having flung my garments onto the grass, / I burn, like a candle, in the evening field. / Running into the distance, my steps are moist, / Tenderly naked, I blossom by the water. / Like white...»