Nightingales of monastery garden,
Like all nightingales flying above,
Say that there is but one joy in living,
And that this joy comes in form of love.
And the monastery meadows flowers
With the tenderness just flowers possess,
Say theres but one merit: Lovers
Touch their lips together and caress.
And, filled to the brim with blueness endless,
Lakes among the monastery wood,
Say: Theres no more azure glance
Than in those who love and who are loved.
С. В. Рахманинову
Соловьи монастырского сада,
Как и все на земле соловьи,
Говорят, что одна есть отрада
И что эта отрада — в любви…
И цветы монастырского луга
С лаской, свойственной только цветам,
Говорят, что одна есть заслуга:
Прикоснуться к любимым устам…
Монастырского леса озера,
Переполненные голубым,
Говорят, нет лазурнее взора,
Как у тех, кто влюблен и любим…
«Yes, you remember, / You certainly remember / The way I listened / Standing at the wall / As you walked to and fro about the chamber / Reproving me / With bitter words and all. / / You said / That it was time we'd parted, / And that my reckless life, / For you, was an ordeal, ...»
«I'm a shepherd, and my parlours / Are the ruffled pasture sides, / Slopes of verdant hills and furrows, / Balks, with booming cry of snipes. / / Yellow foamy clouds are trimming / Pine-tree wood with lace designs, / While I listen, lightly dreaming, / To the whisper of the pines...»
«I'm back at home. My dear land / Is pensive, spreading all around! / The twilight waves its snow-white hand / To greet me from beyond the mound. / / The grizzle of the gloomy day / Is floating by over my home, and / The evening fills me with dismay / Like insurmountable torment. ...»
«Now my grief won't be spilt by the ringing, / Happy laugh of the bygone last. / Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming / And the nightingale dawns have passed. / / All was new to me then, and emotions / Filled my heart to the brim, so good. / Whereas now every word, kind and cautio...»