Стихи англоязычных поэтов с переводом на русский язык

Под этой рубрикой публикуются стихи англоязычных поэтов на английском языке с переводом на русский язык.
Чтобы ознакомиться с полным списком стихов, опубликованных в этой рубрике, посетите страницу ‘Стихи. Переводы с английского языка на русский.’

Robert Burns «Here’s To Thy Health»

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Here’s To Thy Health Here’s to thy health, my bonie lass, Gude nicht and joy be wi’ thee; I’ll come nae mair to thy bower-door, To tell thee that I lo’e thee. O dinna think, my pretty pink, But I can live without thee: I vow and swear I dinna care, How lang ye look about ye. Thou’rt aye sae free informing me, Thou hast nae mind to marry; I’ll be as free informing thee, Nae time hae I to tarry: I ken thy frien’s try ilka means Frae wedlock to delay thee; Depending on some higher chance, But fortune … Читать далее →

Edna St. Vincent Millay «The Heart once broken is a heart no more…»

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* * * The heart once broken is a heart no more, And is absolved from all a heart must be; All that it signed or chartered heretofore Is cancelled now, the bankrupt heart is free; So much of duty as you may require Of shards and dust, this and no more of pain, This and no more of hope, remorse, desire, The heart once broken need support again. How simple ’tis, and what a little sound It makes in breaking, let the world attest: It struggles, and it fails; the world goes round, And the moon follows it. Heart … Читать далее →

Christina Rossetti «Soeur Louise De La Misericorde»

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Soeur Louise De La Misericorde (1674.) I have desired, and I have been desired; But now the days are over of desire, Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; Where is the hire for which my life was hired? Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Now from my heart, love’s deathbed, trickles, trickles, Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, The dross of life, … Читать далее →

Christina Rossetti «When I am dead, my dearest…»

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* * * When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. Christina Rossetti (1830–1894) * * * Когда умру, любимый, То … Читать далее →

Edna St. Vincent Millay «Renascence»

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Renascence All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I’d started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood. Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand. And … Читать далее →

John Donne “Nativity”

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“Nativity” Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves His well-belov’d imprisonment, There He hath made Himself to His intent Weak enough, now into the world to come; But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room? Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient, Stars and wise men will travel to prevent The effect of Herod’s jealous general doom. Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith’s eyes, how He Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie? Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pitied by … Читать далее →

John Keats “To Fanny”

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Стихотворение Джона Китса (1795–1821) «К Фанни» на английском языке и в трех переводах на русский язык. To Fanny I cry your mercy—pity—love! Aye, love! Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot! O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine! That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,— Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all, Withhold no atom’s atom or I die, Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall, Forget, in the mist of idle misery, Life’s purposes,—the palate of my … Читать далее →