Blessed are the ones that left your daughters, Earth,
To fight in wartime battle and to run,
Blessed are the ones that having never tried
Comfort went to the fields Elysian.
Thus grows the laurel - writer of the years,
Heater of battle, sober, with harsh leaves.
I will never exchange for bitter fate of love
The friendship's over-the-clouds cliffs.
Блаженны дочерей твоих, Земля,
Бросавшие для боя и для бега.
Блаженны в Елисейские поля
Вступившие, не обольстившись негой.
Так лавр растёт, — жестоколист и трезв,
Лавр-летописец, горячитель боя.
— Содружества заоблачный отвес
Не променяю на юдоль любови.
____
Хвала Афродите. 1. Блаженны дочерей твоих, Земля...
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«I hate the roar of giant cities, neighborhoods, / I am repulsed by crowd commotion, / My spirit lives in depths of woods, / Where in secluded calm devotion / I hark to music of unseen sweet voices' moods, / ...»
«This woman! I grow mute and hazy. / Because of this, see, I avert my eyes. / I don’t trust the cuckoos or the daisies, / And I don’t visit Gypsies for advice. They’ll be preaching: do not love her, / They’ll be screeching: it is all deceit, / They will prophesy, foretell, foreshad...»
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