There was painter once,
Owned a small home and his art.
But there’s an actress he loved,
Flowers were dear to her heart.
So he sold his house on a whim —
His art and his roof, undeterred —
And spent all the money to buy
A whole sea of flowers for her.
A million, million, million red roses here,
From you room, from your room, from your room, you can view.
One in love, one in love, one in love – that’s sincere! —
Will transform life into flowers for you.
Outside the window, you gaze —
Maybe your mind’s in a daze?
Your dream is continuing there,
Flowers have covered the square.
Your soul turns cold, overwhelmed —
What affluent man went offbeat?
But there, not a penny in hand,
The painter stands in the street.
Their meeting was fleeting, of course.
She left on the train in the night.
But in her life there once was
The mad song of roses outside.
The painter lived all alone.
Through much misfortune and gloom.
But in his life there once was
A square full of roses in bloom.
Миллион роз
Жил-был художник один,
домик имел и холсты.
Но он актрису любил,
ту, что любила цветы.
Он тогда продал свой дом –
Продал картины и кров –
и на все деньги купил
целое море цветов.
Миллион, миллион, миллион алых роз
из окна видишь ты.
Кто влюблён, кто влюблён, кто влюблён – и всерьёз! –
свою жизнь для тебя превратит в цветы.
Утром встаёшь у окна –
может, сошла ты с ума?
Как продолжение сна,
площадь цветами полна.
Похолодеет душа –
что за богач там чудит?
А за окном без гроша
Бедный художник стоит.
Встреча была коротка.
В ночь её поезд увёз.
Но в её жизни была
песня безумная роз.
Прожил художник один.
Много он бед перенёс.
но в его жизни была
целая площадь из роз.
«Like a white stone in a deep well / one memory lies inside me. / I cannot and will not fight against it: / it is joy and it is pain. It seems to me that anyone who looks / into my eyes will notice it immediately, / becoming sadder and more pensive / than someone listening to a melanchol...»
«The great man stared through the window / but her entire world ended with the border / of his broad Greek tunic, whose abundant folds / resembled the sea on hold. / And he still stared out through the window, and his gaze / was so far away from here, that his lips were immobile / like a ...»
«The crimson summer now grows pale; / Clear, bright days now soar away; / Hazy mist spreads through the vale, / As the sleeping night turns gray; / The barren cornfields lose their gold; / The lively stream has now turned cold; / The curly woods are gray and stark, / And the heavens hav...»
«I’m not that lover, filled with passion, — / That youth, who left the world amazed: / Alas, my spring and summer passed now, / And didn’t leave a single trace. / Cupid, the god of youth and love and virtue! / I used to be your steadfast servant; / Oh, if I could be reborn, — I...»