Willow tree, why do you bend your branches
Down to the water
And with leaves a-tremble
Like thirsty mouths
Try to catch the running stream?
Useless for every leaf to strain
And flutter above the stream,
The waters rush and plash along their way,
Gaily sparkling in the sunshine
As they laugh at you.
Что ты клонишь над водами,
Ива, макушку свою
И дрожащими листами,
Словно жадными устами,
Ловишь беглую струю?..
Хоть томится, хоть трепещет
Каждый лист твой над струей...
Но струя бежит и плещет,
И, на солнце нежась, блещет,
И смеется над тобой...
«I know a rock in a highland's ravine, / On which only eagles might ever be seen, / But a black wooden cross o'er a precipice reigns, / It rots and it ages from tempests and rains. And many years have gone without any hints, / From times when it was seen from faraway hills. / And its every...»
«Yes, I like you, my knife of damask pledge, / My friend so bright and so cold, / A thoughtful Georgian forged you for his revenge, / A free Circassian then sharpened for a row. You had been trusted me by lily-like a hand — / A sign for memory — in time of separation, / And now no bl...»
«The Bard is killed! The honor's striver / Fell, slandered by a gossip's dread, / With lead in breast and vengeful fire, / Drooped with his ever-proud head. / The Poet's soul did not bear / The shameful hurts of low breed, / He fought against the worldly "faire," / Alone as always, ......»
«A poet's dead — entrapped by honour, / Felled by slanderous rumours spread — / A bullet in the breast, with vengeful anger, / He bowed at last his noble head. / His soul could not endure the legions / Of trifling insults and their shame, / He stood against the world's opinions, / A...»