Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm...
King Lear
Oh what a storm! It's like insane,
The wicked blizzard wails and rages,
The clouds rush with pouring rain
The wind now fades, now wails and surges.
Oh what a fright! On such a night
I pity the forsaken homeless,
Compassion makes me take to flight
Into the arms of soaking coldness!..
To fight the darkness and the rain
And share the fate of wretched martyrs...
Oh what a storm! It's like insane,
The wicked blizzard wails and sputters!
Вы, бедные, нагие несчастливцы.
Лир
О, как безумно за окном
Ревёт, бушует буря злая,
Несутся тучи, льют дождем,
И ветер воет, замирая!
Ужасна ночь! В такую ночь
Мне жаль людей, лишённых крова,
И сожаленье гонит прочь —
В объятья холода сырого!..
Бороться с мраком и дождем,
Страдальцев участь разделяя...
О, как безумно за окном
Бушует ветер, изнывая!
«Suspecting not yours, but a prompted reply, / A silent forbiddance I’ve read in your eye, / But still! O how more understandably speaks / This genuine and elegant blush of the cheeks. This call of the flowers that sweetly pervades, / This languid approach of the vespertine shades, / Thi...»
«Sensing that loved ones have told you, “Say no,” / I read in your eyes what your answer bespeaks, / But even more lucid are signals that show / On the telltale opulent blush of your cheeks, In the plaint of the flowers that languish and wilt, / In the solace of shade that has rushed in ...»
«Yes, right you are! Alone for outlines airy / I am so fine. / All velvet mine with all its twinkle merry— / Two wings of mine. O, never ask me, wherefrom I appear / Or whither flit! / Upon a flow’r I have alighted here / To breathe and sit. How long, without an effort, aim or worry...»
«Look now: one bright flit in the air / And I flaunt my precious bling. / All of this velvet with its flicker-flair / Is only a wing, plus a wing. Don’t ask from whence I’ve come, / Or whither I’m bound when I leave. / Here on this flower in blithe slumberdom / I perch, and breathe...»