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Коли моя рука, то тиха, то лукава,
В промінні сну торкнеться губ твоїх І попливе по шиї і, небавом, Зплеча на груди, із грудей до ніг ... Коли твоя рука, солодка, ніби слава, Червонооким пальчиком майне Влимонній тиші і коли мене У темну глибину поверне темна слада У білій лодії тоді ми пливемо По водах любощів між берегами ночі: І голоси у гніздах ластівочі Стихають тихо ... Золоте кермо Заснулої хмарини понад полем, І спить рука в руці, і на щоці Краплина щастя, виказана болем, До ранку світиться ... Mykola Vinhranovsky More: http://brama.com/art/lit.html |
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Song for the diaspora
A Reflection -Taras Shevchenko
The river empties to the sea, But out it never flows; The Cossack lad his fortune seeks, But never fortune knows. The Cossack lad has left his home, He's left his kith and kind; The blue sea's waters splash and foam, Sad thoughts disturb his mind: "Why, heedless, did you go away? For what did you forsake Your father old, your mother grey, Your sweetheart, to their fate? In foreign lands live foreign folks, Their ways are not your way: There will be none to share your woes Or pass the time of day." Across the sea, the Cossack rests -- The choppy sea's distraught. He thought with fortune to be blessed -- Misfortune is his lot. In vee-formation, 'cross the waves The cranes are off for home. The Cossack weeps -- his beaten paths With weeds are overgrown... St. Petersburg, 1838. Translated by John Weir Toronto |
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