Lovely night, I will never retrieve it,
And I won't see my sweet precious love.
And the nightingale's song, I won't hear it,
Happy song that it sang in the grove!
That sweet night is now gone irrevocably,
You can't tell it: please come back and wait.
Autumn weather has now set in locally,
With perpetual rains, all is wet.
Fast asleep in the grave is my sweetheart
Keeping love, as before, in her heart.
And however it tries, autumn blizzard
Cannot wake her from sleep, flesh and blood.
So the nightingale's singing has ended,
As the song-bird has taken to flight,
And I can't hear the song now, so splendid,
Which it sang on that sweet chilly night.
Gone and lost are the joyous emotions
That I had in my life and conceived.
All I have now is chill in my conscience.
What is gone can't be ever retrieved.
Не вернуть мне ту ночку прохладную,
Не видать мне подруги своей,
Не слыхать мне ту песню отрадную,
Что в саду распевал соловей!
Унеслася та ночка весенняя,
Ей не скажешь: «Вернись, подожди».
Наступила погода осенняя,
Бесконечные льются дожди.
Крепким сном спит в могиле подруга,
Схороня в своем сердце любовь.
Не разбудит осенняя вьюга
Крепкий сон, не взволнует и кровь.
И замолкла та песнь соловьиная,
За моря соловей улетел,
Не звучит уже более, сильная,
Что он ночкой прохладною пел.
Пролетели и радости милые,
Что испытывал в жизни тогда.
На душе уже чувства остылые.
Что прошло — не вернуть никогда.
«No, I can’t ever forget / your child’s mouth, your girl’s glance, / bold — I dream of you, / I speak, I think of you — always — like rhythm. I feel vast oceans / heaving as the moon yaws, / and whole galaxies, burning, / swinging as they have always swung, will always swing....»
«Being drawn into earthly passions, / I vision as from gloom to light / Once, dressed in black, Dark Angel rushes / To cry: "Salvation is a lie!" Yet, unassuming and lighthearted, / Delightful as a noble deed, / Comes angel from the white department / To add that hope is true indeed.»
«To Vl. Motyl As a child, I was convinced / that from all conditions / Potion of the Danish Prince / is the most efficient. / And that faith is burning since / brighter every year... / Potion of the Danish Prince / Savor, cavalier! Potion of this Prince or King / is as sweet as cand...»
«They're yet to be fitted, your veil and your gown, / And chanters to bless us for life, / But hurries time — dare-driver renowned! — / And horses are eager to fly. If only the ding-bells were angels safeguarding, / The sleigh were by tracks to abide! / Two buddies forever, devotion an...»