По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
Шотландский ветер Лермонтова
Автор
Серия
Год написания книги
2019
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
One heart with love’s capacity exists;
Though, till such time, I do not count this feature
Valid. A heart that still resists
Will not be swayed by what’s opined;
And now Cassandra conjures her to mind;
Her eyes, once full of cheer,
Are misted as she wipes away a tear.
For me, at last, a sanguine grave awaits;
Absent benediction or a cross;
Waters surging all around the straits;
Beneath the swirling mists, only moss
And lichen. And this young boy,
Drawn here he knows not why
To sit a while and meditate alone,
Pondering my fate upon this stone.
He’ll say: “Wherefore he failed to see
The light, and how he did not find
His friends, and why love’s fancy
Did not ease his troubled mind.
Wasn’t he deserving?” And he’ll ponder
As a shadow looms, and gazing yonder,
See grey clouds gliding over waves of blue,
A white sail, a fast-running canoe
And my memorial! – My cherished dreams
Are all like this. The sweetness
Is in everything not yet fulfilled, it seems
In just such pictures there’s completeness.
Though hard to put on paper, thought is strong,
When not constrained by logic, only song —
When running free, like in a children’s game,
Or when a harp rings out boldly in eternal halls of fame!
English translation of 1831-го ИЮНЯ 11 ДНЯ by M.Y. Lermontov © Thomas Beavitt August 2018
По заказу Максима Привезенцева.
Обложка.
Для подготовки обложки издания использована художественная работа автора.
Художник Евгения Бубер.
Фотография автора книги Максима Привезенцева из материалов экспедиции в Шотландию. www.maximprivezentsev.com
Though, till such time, I do not count this feature
Valid. A heart that still resists
Will not be swayed by what’s opined;
And now Cassandra conjures her to mind;
Her eyes, once full of cheer,
Are misted as she wipes away a tear.
For me, at last, a sanguine grave awaits;
Absent benediction or a cross;
Waters surging all around the straits;
Beneath the swirling mists, only moss
And lichen. And this young boy,
Drawn here he knows not why
To sit a while and meditate alone,
Pondering my fate upon this stone.
He’ll say: “Wherefore he failed to see
The light, and how he did not find
His friends, and why love’s fancy
Did not ease his troubled mind.
Wasn’t he deserving?” And he’ll ponder
As a shadow looms, and gazing yonder,
See grey clouds gliding over waves of blue,
A white sail, a fast-running canoe
And my memorial! – My cherished dreams
Are all like this. The sweetness
Is in everything not yet fulfilled, it seems
In just such pictures there’s completeness.
Though hard to put on paper, thought is strong,
When not constrained by logic, only song —
When running free, like in a children’s game,
Or when a harp rings out boldly in eternal halls of fame!
English translation of 1831-го ИЮНЯ 11 ДНЯ by M.Y. Lermontov © Thomas Beavitt August 2018
По заказу Максима Привезенцева.
Обложка.
Для подготовки обложки издания использована художественная работа автора.
Художник Евгения Бубер.
Фотография автора книги Максима Привезенцева из материалов экспедиции в Шотландию. www.maximprivezentsev.com
Другие электронные книги автора Максим Привезенцев
Последний отзыв
Интересная книга