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.’

Philip Morin Freneau «The Neglected Husband»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

The Neglected Husband A man’s best fortune or his worst’s a wife, A steady friendship, or continual strife. Poor Richard, once married a Belle, The pride, and the toast of the town, He could love her, he thought, very well, Let her smile, let her scold, let her frown. She danced—and she cared not a straw, Not a fig, if he lived or he died; If a fop with a feather she saw His attentions were rarely denied. Poor Richard was pitied by all, Thus slighted, neglected, distress’d, Yet, rather than wrangle and brawl He made of his bargain the … Читать далее →

Robert Frost «The Tuft of Flowers»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

The Tuft of Flowers I went to turn the grass once after one Who mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew was gone that made his blade so keen Before I came to view the levelled scene. I looked for him behind an isle of trees; I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. But he had gone his way, the grass all mown, And I must be, as he had been,—alone, ‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart, ‘Whether they work together or apart.’ But as I said it, swift there passed me by … Читать далее →

John Donne “Death, be not proud”

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

Сонет Джона Донна «Смерть, не гордись…» на английском языке и в трех переводах на русский язык. Death, be not proud Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And … Читать далее →

Philip Morin Freneau «The Wild Honey Suckle»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

The Wild Honey Suckle Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature’s self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by; Thus quietly thy summer goes, Thy days declining to repose. Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died—nor were those flowers more gay, The flowers that did … Читать далее →

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “The Warning”

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Стихотворение американского поэта Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло (1807 – 1882) «Предостережение» на английском и русском языках. The Warning Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore The lion in his path,—when, poor and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind In prison, and at last led forth to be A pander to Philistine revelry,— Upon the pillars of the temple laid His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who made A cruel mockery of his sightless woe; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and … Читать далее →

An Unkindly May by Thomas Hardy

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

An Unkindly May A shepherd stands by a gate in a white smock-frock: He holds the gate ajar, intently counting his flock. The sour spring wind is blurting boisterous-wise, And bears on it dirty clouds across the skies; Plantation timbers creak like rusty cranes, And pigeons and rooks, dishevelled by late rains, Are like gaunt vultures, sodden and unkempt, And song-birds do not end what they attempt: The buds have tried to open, but quite failing Have pinched themselves together in their quailing. The sun frowns whitely in eye-trying flaps Through passing cloud-holes, mimicking audible taps. ‘Nature, you’re not commendable … Читать далее →

Robert Frost «The Vantage Point»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

The Vantage Point If tired of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn, To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. There amid lolling juniper reclined, Myself unseen, I see in white defined Far off the homes of men, and farther still The graves of men on an opposing hill, Living or dead, whichever are to mind. And if by noon I have too much of these, I have but to turn on my arm, and lo, The sunburned hillside sets my face aglow, My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze, … Читать далее →