The rich man loved a poor woman,
The scientist loved a dumb woman,
The ruddy man loved a pale woman,
The kind man loved a bad woman,
And the gold a copper coin.
«Where, merchant, is your wealth all?»
«In a wallet that's full of holes!»
«Where, proud one, is what you know?»
«Under a girl's pillow.»
«Where are your red cheeks, gorgeous sight?»
«Whitened down in the black night.»
«Where is the cross with silver chain?»
«Under the girl's boots again.»
Rich man don't love a poor woman,
Scientist don't love a dumb woman,
Ruddy man don't love a pale woman,
Kind man don't love a bad woman,
And the gold a copper coin.
Полюбил богатый — бедную,
Полюбил учёный — глупую,
Полюбил румяный — бледную,
Полюбил хороший — вредную:
Золотой — полушку медную.
— Где, купец, твоё роскошество?
«Во дырявом во лукошечке!»
— Где, гордец, твои учёности?
«Под подушкой у девчоночки!»
— Где, красавец, щёки алые?
«За́ ночь чёрную — растаяли».
— Крест серебряный с цепочкою?
«У девчонки под сапожками!»
Не люби, богатый, — бедную,
Не люби, учёный, — глупую,
Не люби, румяный, — бледную,
Не люби, хороший, — вредную:
Золотой — полушку медную!
«Its final stand now takes the cold, / Its grip the coming thaw delays. / The spring is later than of old, / But unexpected are its days. Since morning cockerel’s courted her, / The hassled hen can’t get away. / And southwards faces frowning fir / To lap the sun’s now warming ray. ...»
«So, look for me in spring light’s threading fingers. / I am it all: the sweep of subtle wings; / A sound; a sigh; a parquet-ray that lingers, / I’m lighter than it: for to where I was it clings. But, friend for ever, there’s no separation! / Oh, listen, I am here, and you can touch / ...»
«High in the sky is God’s moon. / I feel bad. / Today is a day with blank misery strewn. / Silent and sad. / / No one around, not a mutt, not a bitch / To go yip-yipe or bark. / All is so tedious, all a dank niche, / Full of stagna...»
«When Desdemona came a-singing, / And a little time to live had she — / Not love, her fatal star, she sobbed: / It was a willow, willow tree. When Desdemona came a-singing, / With firmer voice and lifted head, / Her demon at her death prepared / A psalm of a weeping river bed. And wh...»