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.
Dewy poplars, softly waving,
Shine with verdure on the scene.
I am a shepherd, and my dwelling
Is the gentle field of green.
Cows salute and hail me chatting,
Using their tongue of nods.
Fragrant flowers are inviting,
Kindly, to the river spots.
I forget all grieves and cares,
On a heap of twigs, I dream.
To the sun I say my prayers,
'nd make communion by the stream.
Я пастух, мои палаты —
Межи зыбистых полей.
По горам зеленым — скаты
С гарком гулких дупелей.
Вяжут кружево над лесом
В желтой пене облака.
В тихой дреме под навесом
Слышу шепот сосняка.
Светят зелено в сутёмы
Под росою тополя.
Я — пастух; мои хоромы —
В мягкой зелени поля.
Говорят со мной коровы
На кивливом языке.
Духовитые дубровы
Кличут ветками к реке.
Позабыв людское горе,
Сплю на вырублях сучья.
Я молюсь на алы зори,
Причащаюсь у ручья.
«(And the Didgeridoo) Yes, I know, I’m not for you, / I come from a different land, / I prefer the didgeridoo, / For guitar twangs are far too bland. I don’t hang with the lit-set crowd, / Where fops in weird outfits spout hoity-toit verse, / I read my poems to a passing cloud, / Wi...»
«A stark barren fact that all logic opposes, / Bare truth that oppresses my soul: / Atrid lies dead on a bed of red roses, / So how can I live, how my grief to condole? All that we dreamt of, always and ever, / Longings and yearnings and fears, / All was made flesh in his purest endeavor...»
«White churches stand tall and there’s resonant, glistening ice, / And the cornflower-blue is abloom in my son’s precious gaze. / Nights strung with diamonds hang high on the ancient town’s heights, / More yellow than linden-flower honey the sickle-moon’s rays. Dry blizzards blow in fr...»
«(The Overseas Ostrich) Here I come, / in feathers of stanzas, meter and rhyme, / an overseas ostrich, in sum, / is what I’m. / Trying, do I, my poor noggin to hide, / to deep under jangling of plumage abide. I’m not yours, you snow-smothered monstrosity! / Deep, burrow deep / int...»