I had a bird in my hand
but my bird has flown.
I held a bird in my hand
but am now all alone.
My small bird has left me
full of anger and rage;
my blue bird has left me
alone in a cage.
Небольшая синица была в руках,
небольшая была синица,
небольшая синяя птица.
Улетела, оставив меня в дураках.
Улетела, оставив меня одного
в изумленьи, печали и гневе,
не оставив мне ничего, ничего,
и теперь — с журавлями в небе.
«Fire and rope, bullet and axe — / These faithful servants at our backs. / In every drop there slept a flood, / From every stone a mountain lloomed. / And in each trampled twig / Black-handed forests sighed and moaned. Falsehood gorged itself from our plates, / Bells sounded only ...»
«The fire and the page, the hewed hairs and the swords, / The grains and the millstone, the whispers and the clatter — / God saves all that — especially the words / Of love and pity, as His only way to utter. The harsh pulse pounds and the blood torrent whips, / The spade knocks even...»
«The fire and the page, the hewed hairs and the swords, / The grains and the millstone, the whispers and the clatter — / God saves all that — especially the words / Of love and pity, as His only way to utter. The harsh pulse pounds and the blood torrent whips, / The spade knocks evenl...»
«I’ve set my folks on a vacation, / From friends I’ve drifted far apart, / And now the permanent dejection / Submerses nature and the heart. Inside this lodge, we’re left alone. / The woods are dreary and remote. / And sprouts of grass, like in the song, / Have overgrown each path ...»