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Robert Burns «Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

Стихотворение Роберта Бернса «Прощальный поцелуй» на английском языке и в трёх переводах на русский язык. Звукозапись стихотворения на английском языке. Ae Fond Kiss Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me. I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy: But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for … Читать далее →

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “The day is done…”

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* * * The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain. And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. … Читать далее →

Thomas Hardy «Near Lanivet, 1872»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

Near Lanivet, 1872 There was a stunted handpost just on the crest, Only a few feet high: She was tired, and we stopped in the twilight-time for her rest, At the crossways close thereby. She leant back, being so weary, against its stem, And laid her arms on its own, Each open palm stretched out to each end of them, Her sad face sideways thrown. Her white-clothed form at this dim-lit cease of day Made her look as one crucified In my gaze at her from the midst of the dusty way, And hurriedly «Don’t,» I cried. I do not … Читать далее →

Ralph Waldo Emerson “Brahma”

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Brahma If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, I am the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven; … Читать далее →

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow «The Slave’s Dream»

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The Slave’s Dream Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair’ Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land. Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain-road. He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand! — A tear burst from … Читать далее →

Thomas Stearns Eliot «Whispers of Immortality»

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Whispers of Immortality Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backward with a lipless grin. Daffodil bulbs instead of balls Stared from the sockets of the eyes! He knew that thought clings round dead limbs Tightening its lusts and luxuries. Donne, I suppose, was such another Who found no substitute for sense, To seize and clutch and penetrate; Expert beyond experience, He knew the anguish of the marrow The ague of the skeleton; No contact possible to flesh Allayed the fever of the bone. . . . . … Читать далее →

Thomas Hardy «To Life»

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To Life O life with the sad seared face, I weary of seeing thee, And thy draggled cloak, and thy hobbling pace, And thy too-forced pleasantry! I know what thou would’st tell Of Death, Time, Destiny — I have known it long, and know, too, well What it all means for me. But canst thou not array Thyself in rare disguise, And feign like truth, for one mad day, That Earth is Paradise? I’ll tune me to the mood, And mumm with thee till eve; And maybe what as interlude I feign, I shall believe! Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) К жизни … Читать далее →