|Твори О.С. Пушкіна.Переклад англійською мовою.> Winter Morning|
Snow, frost and sunshine: lovely morning!
Yet you, dear love, its magic scorning,
Are still abed... Awake, my sweet!..
Cast sleep away, I beg, and, rising,
Yourself a northern star, the blazing
Aurora, northern beauty, meet.
Last night, a snow-storm raged, remember;
A turbid haze swam in the sombre,
Wind-ravaged sky, and through the grey
Murk of the clouds the moon shone dully,
And you sat listless, melancholy...
But now — look out the window, pray—
‘Neath lucid skies of clearest azure,
Great snowy carpets, winter's treasure,
A rich and dazzling sight, lie spread.
The wood is etched against them darkly,
The firs, rime-starred, are green and sparkling,
In shiny mail the stream is clad.
A mellow glow like that of amber
Illumes the room... ‘Tis good to linger
Beside the gaily crackling stove,
And think and dream... But let our honest
Brown mare without delay be harnessed
That we may take a sledge ride, love.
We'll give free rein to her, and lightly,
The snow of morning gleaming brightly,
Skim over it, and, full of glee,
Cross empty fields and empty meadows,
A once green wood with trees like shadows,
A stream and bank long dear to me.
|Бібліотека ім. О. С. Пушкіна (м. Київ).