Lads and lasses gathering,
Willow-boughs and tapers bring,
That they homeward bear.
Warmly do the flamelets glow,
Wayfarers cross them as they go;
Spring-tide scents the air.
Little breeze from far away,
Rain, O rain, with tiny spray,
Quench ye not the flame.
For Palm Sunday earliest,
I to-morrow stir from rest,
Holy-day to acclaim.
___
Note: It is almost impossible to reproduce in English' rhyme the delicate simplicity of the original, with its diminutives and the tripping melody of its metre.
Мальчики да девочки
Свечечки да вербочки
Понесли домой.
Огонечки теплятся,
Прохожие крестятся,
И пахнет весной.
Ветерок удаленький,
Дождик, дождик маленький,
Не задуй огня!
В Воскресенье Вербное
Завтра встану первая
Для святого дня.
« Here's your roses — pull your hands toward them — / Having gone farther than the sea, dear friend! / My dear friend, having with you born out / The most precious treasures of the land. I am robbed and deceived — There's no letter, / No ring in my memory! / How the features are...»
«You're happy? You won't say! Barely! / Better let go! / You kissed too many, I do think, / Therefrom, sorrow. All heroines of Shakespeare's tragedies / In you I see. / Nobody saved you, you the young / Tragic lady. You are so tired of repeating / Love's charm! / Eloquent, the pig ...»
«Under caresses of an ivy / Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream. / Whose victory? Who's been defeated? / What has it been? Rethinking everything once more, / Torturing myself once again. / In this, for which no word I know, / Had love ever been? Who was the hunter? Who — the hunted? ...»
«Today was melting, and today / Before the window I did stand. / A sober look, a freer chest, / I'm satisfied just once again. I don't know why. Perhaps the soul / Has simply grown tired of it all, / And somehow the rebellious pencil / I do not wish to touch at all. Distant to good and ...»