A sow went for a walk one day
With all her family.
The happy mother said Oink-Oink!
The piglets squealed Ee-Ee!
Then one of them, who squealed the most.
Said, “Brothers, can’t you see:
All grown-up porkers say Oink-Oink!
How can we squeal Ee-Ee!
“Who said we’re worse than grown-up pigs?
Now listen, friends, to me!”
Poor thing, he thought he’d say Oink-Oink,
But really squealed Ee-Ee. . . .
Since then the piglets ceased to root
And frisk about the lea
And all because they couldn’t Oink,
But only squealed Ee-Ee.
My boy, this story has a point
As clear as clear can be.
If you’re too young to say Oink-Oink,
Then boldly squeal Ee-Ee!
Весной поросята ходили гулять.
Счастливей не знал я семьи.
«Хрю-хрю», — говорила довольная мать,
А детки визжали: «И-и»!
Но самый визгливый из всех поросят
Сказал им: «О, братья мои!
Все взрослые свиньи «хрю-хрю» говорят,
Довольно визжать вам «и-и»!
Послушайте, братья, как я говорю.
Чем хуже я взрослой свиньи?»
Бедняжка! Он думал, что скажет «хрю-хрю»,
Но жалобно взвизгнул: «И-и»!
С тех пор перестали малютки играть,
Не рылись в грязи и в пыли.
И все оттого, что не смели визжать,
А хрюкать они не могли!
Мой мальчик! Тебе эту песню дарю.
Рассчитывай силы свои.
И, если сказать не умеешь «хрю-хрю», —
Визжи, не стесняясь: «И-и»!
«Little Fly so spruce and sprightly, / Golden tummy shining brightly, Right across the field she flew, / Spied a penny. It was new. So she searched the town bazaar. / There she bought a samovar. “Dear Cockroaches, come with me / I invite you all to tea.” To the Fly Cockroaches scu...»
«The sun went strolling in the sky / When suddenly a cloud came by. / Bunny took a look outside. / “Oh, how dark it is!” he cried. And the magpies on the farm / Chattered loudly in alarm. / They hopped about the hills and plains / And shouted to the storks and cranes: / “L...»
«Long the Tsar sat lonely, brooding. / But he, too, was only human. / Tears for one sad year he shed... / And another woman wed. / She (if one be strictly truthful) / Was a born Tsaritsa — youthful, / Slim, tall, fair to look upon, / Clever, witty — and so on. / But sh...»
«The roads to the past have long been closed, / and what is the past to me now? / What is there? Bloody slabs, / or a bricked up door, / or an echo that still could not / keep quiet, although I ask so… / The same thing happened with the echo / as with what I carry in my heart.»