Анон, скинь свой самый любимый стих на английском, если у тебя таковой имеется.
Сингин сингин
Даен даен
Сингинг сингин
Дан даен
Down By the Salley Gardens
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Down by the salley gardens
my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens
with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy,
as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish,
with her would not agree.
In a field by the river
my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder
she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy,
as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish,
and now am full of tears.
Он своеобразный, правда.
Little grey mouse
Where is your house..
С телефона лень всё печатать, боюсь ошибиться
>стих
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
If you want to fuck a sky
You must teach your penis fly
You must teach your penis fly
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Неносителям будет сложно понять всю глубину.
Лол, проходили по литре, в классе 10 вроде
Потому что Йейтс такой годный, что классика.
Говно
Твинкл твинкл литл стар.тхреад
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Дай угадаю, тебе лет 18-20?
Иф ю вонт ту би окей
кис май пенис эври дэй
иф ю вонт ту хэв найс сэкс
фак май дог, хиз нэйм из Рэкс.
Poem - стих. В свободном стиле верлибр.
А для тебя стих - это исключительно рифмы и четкий ритм?
If you want to fuck the sky
You must teach your dick to fly
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Это перепись илитки тред?
Fuck, fuck, fuck,
Mother motherfuck
Mother motherfuck fuck
Motherfuck motherfuck
Noise, noise, noise
1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4
Noise, noise noise
Shmokin'Weed shmoking wizz
Doin' coke, drinkin' beers
Drinkin' beers, beers, beers
Rollin' fatties, smokin' blunts
Who smokes the blunts?
We smoke the blunts!
Rollin' blunts and smokin'-
(Uh, lemme get a nickel back)
15 Bucks, little man
Put that shit in my hand
If that money doesnt show
then you owe me owe me owe
Прекрасный стих.
Источник?
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe
you straight homie.
Знание иностранного языка в Рашке теперь признак элиты?
за тебя гуглить что ли?
Бля!
Бля.
Бля. Бля. Бля. Бля.
Бля-бля-бля. Сука, твою мать –
сука, твою мать. Бля.
Сука-бля, сука-бля, бля, бля, бля.
Раз, два. Раз, два, три, бля.
Бля, сука-бля.
Шмалим дурь, курим шмаль.
Дуем "коку", пиво пьём.
Пиво пьём, пьём, пьём.
Косяки, бля, продаём.
Кто продаёт? Мы продаём.
Забиваем, продаём...
Отсыпь на забивку.
Пятнашка баксов, чувачок.
Гони в лапу пятачок.
Если с бабками облом,
даю в долг, долг, долг.
Мне приятней было бы от тебя это услышать.
конечно
всегда так было
иностранный язык не знало только крестьянское быдло и вонючие пролетарии
Два чаю тебе, браток. Любимейший стих из всех существующих, не только из тех, что на английском.
Блять даже с гугл переводчиком туго.
I've paid for your sickest fancies; I've humoured your crackedest whim --
Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him!
Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied.
I shall go under by morning, and -- Put that nurse outside.
'Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to learn,
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn.
И дальше Киплинг написал какое-то слово из спам-листа Абу. Спасибо, Абу.
Абу благословил этот пост.
Dick, it's your daddy, dying; you've got to listen to him!
Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied.
I shall go under by morning, and -- Put that nurse outside.
'Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to learn,
And you'll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn.
И дальше Киплинг написал какое-то слово из спам-листа Абу. Спасибо, Абу.
Абу благословил этот пост.
Он мне и на русском тоже нравится, причем во всех вариантах.
>И дальше Киплинг написал какое-то слово из спам-листа Абу
Всю ночь писал, а потом умер. Спасибо хачепидарасу Абу за смерть отличного писателя.
Абу благословил этот пост.
Мандела?
Почему? Чем он тебе нравится?
Но проблема не в этом, а в ватном менталитете "зачем мне язык, если я в Рассеи живу?"
В каждой школе языку учат, но почему-то иностранный язык знают только 15%.
>этот пик
>этот стих
Окей.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Said the wounded drummer boy;
Mother, press your lips to mine;
O, they bring me peace and joy!
'Tis the last time on earth
I shall ever see your face
Mother take me to your heart,
Let me die in your embrace.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die,
Do not mourn, my mother, dear,
Every pang will soon be o'er;
For I hear the angel band
Calling from their starry shore;
Now I see their banners wave
In the light of perfect day,
though 'tis hard to part with you,
Yet I would not wish to stay.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
Farewell mother, Death's cold hand
Weighs upon my spirit now,
And I feel his blighting breath
Fan my pallid cheek and brow.
Closer! closer! to your heart,
Let me feel that you are by,
While my sight is growing dim,
For the dear old Flag I die.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
>этот стих
Окей.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Said the wounded drummer boy;
Mother, press your lips to mine;
O, they bring me peace and joy!
'Tis the last time on earth
I shall ever see your face
Mother take me to your heart,
Let me die in your embrace.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die,
Do not mourn, my mother, dear,
Every pang will soon be o'er;
For I hear the angel band
Calling from their starry shore;
Now I see their banners wave
In the light of perfect day,
though 'tis hard to part with you,
Yet I would not wish to stay.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
Farewell mother, Death's cold hand
Weighs upon my spirit now,
And I feel his blighting breath
Fan my pallid cheek and brow.
Closer! closer! to your heart,
Let me feel that you are by,
While my sight is growing dim,
For the dear old Flag I die.
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
Ну у меня неплохо с фантазией и я себе ярко представляю как летит ужастный бармаглот и пылкает огнем. Ну и общая комичность слов вроде "спешит споржественно" и "стрижающий меч"
>15%
Обосрался. Печально то, что когда помню в начальной школе мне мамка говорила ВАШЕМУ ПОКОЛЕНИЮ ПОВЕЗЛО. ВЫ АНГЛИЙСКИЙ УЧИТЕ. ВСЕ БУДЕТЕ НА НЕМ ГОВОРИТЬ, ПОНИМАТЬ ВСЕ В реальности же все забили хуй на него и никто ничего не знает, а если и знает, то очень банальные и поверхностные вещи, хотя по сути да, это не нужно.
Уильям Хенли
Тьфу ты, точно. Это про Манделу фильм так же называется.
больше бери
Потому что ватные родители не объяснили детям, зачем нужны иностранные языки.
В условиях глобализации и интеграции еще как нужно. Родной конечно необходимо тоже не забывать, но лично мне английский помогает всегда открывать что-то новое, чего в рашке еще нет, ну это грубо говоря.
Также знание языка помогает адекватно смотреть на вещи. Ватник этого никогда не поймет, потому что будет смотреть и читать только то, что написано на русском.
Двачую. Та же литература. Я вот виедзмина читал и на русском и на польском. И в том и в том варианте есть свои изюминки. Родной забывать не нужно, но и тупо затыкать уши и орать что нинужна мне ваша жидоречь тоже глупо.
мимо хохлобендеровец
Помнит кто? Я до сих пор знаю наизусть и мысленно слышу голос барба.
I can see what you see not—
Vision milky, then eyes rot.
When you turn, they will be gone,
Whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what cannot be—
Shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
Cast down into the Halls of the Blind.
I can see what you see not—
Vision milky, then eyes rot.
When you turn, they will be gone,
Whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what cannot be—
Shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
Cast down into the Halls of the Blind.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Че за говно, блядь, безвкусное
There's soldier in the grass
With the finger up his ass
Take it out, take it out
Like a good girlscout
With the finger up his ass
Take it out, take it out
Like a good girlscout
А песни считаются?
бамп
Отличный тред
In grayish mists, the slimy beasts,
The vokras can be found.
They slowly float, they slowly drift
Above the sopping ground.
They slowly feed on rotten weed,
Extending limbs to earth,
They slowly mate, they slowly breed,
To new ones giving birth.
They slowly, decently converse
Of happiness and vice,
They hunt for frogs and slide them in
The buccal orifice.
In grayish mists, the slimy beasts,
The vokras hunt for frogs.
They're worming their pliant limbs
Through heaps of rotten logs.
Away from people's noisy feasts,
Away from light and sound,
In grayish mists, the slimy beasts,
The vokras can be found.
The vokras can be found.
They slowly float, they slowly drift
Above the sopping ground.
They slowly feed on rotten weed,
Extending limbs to earth,
They slowly mate, they slowly breed,
To new ones giving birth.
They slowly, decently converse
Of happiness and vice,
They hunt for frogs and slide them in
The buccal orifice.
In grayish mists, the slimy beasts,
The vokras hunt for frogs.
They're worming their pliant limbs
Through heaps of rotten logs.
Away from people's noisy feasts,
Away from light and sound,
In grayish mists, the slimy beasts,
The vokras can be found.
Op petuh Op petuh
Ego anus davno protuh
Ego anus davno protuh
Potomu chto on petuh
Ego anus davno protuh
Ego anus davno protuh
Potomu chto on petuh
For the dear old Flag I die,
Said the wounded drummer boy;
Mother, press your lips to mine;
O, they bring me peace and joy!
'Tis the last time on earth
I shall ever see your face
Mother take me to your heart,
Let me die in your embrace.
(Chorus)
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die,
Verse 2
Do not mourn, my mother, dear,
Every pang will soon be o'er;
For I hear the angel band
Calling from their starry shore;
Now I see their banners wave
In the light of perfect day,
though 'tis hard to part with you,
Yet I would not wish to stay.
(Chorus)
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
Verse 3
Farewell mother, Death's cold hand
Weighs upon my spirit now,
And I feel his blighting breath
Fan my pallid cheek and brow.
Closer! closer! to your heart,
Let me feel that you are by,
While my sight is growing dim,
For the dear old Flag I die.
Said the wounded drummer boy;
Mother, press your lips to mine;
O, they bring me peace and joy!
'Tis the last time on earth
I shall ever see your face
Mother take me to your heart,
Let me die in your embrace.
(Chorus)
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die,
Verse 2
Do not mourn, my mother, dear,
Every pang will soon be o'er;
For I hear the angel band
Calling from their starry shore;
Now I see their banners wave
In the light of perfect day,
though 'tis hard to part with you,
Yet I would not wish to stay.
(Chorus)
For the dear old Flag I die,
Mother, dry your weeping eye;
For the honor of our land
And the dear old Flag I die.
Verse 3
Farewell mother, Death's cold hand
Weighs upon my spirit now,
And I feel his blighting breath
Fan my pallid cheek and brow.
Closer! closer! to your heart,
Let me feel that you are by,
While my sight is growing dim,
For the dear old Flag I die.
And shepherds we shall be,
for thee my lord for thee.
Power hath descended forth from thy hand,
that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command.
So we shall flow river forth to thee,
and teeming with souls shall it ever be.
In nomine patris,
et filli,
et spiritus sancti.
You've sunk lower than I've ever seen,
and even though you deserved this
I tried to catch your fall
I've grown so tired of your childish threats
Know that I'll never run from anything
And I'll burn the building if I knew you'd die
And I'll pray you're a failure
And that you won't make it out alive
[x2]
Here's where we prove all your fairytales wrong
This all stops tonight
Swim in your sea of smoke
Until your lungs lose the fight
It's over
This all stops tonight
Or prove me wrong
What have you become trough your jealousy?
You've threatened my life, my friends and family
This is your last wrong turn in your life
and this dead end leads to a blood bath
your blood bath
And I'll burn the building if I knew you'd die
And I'll pray you're a failure
And that you won't make it out alive
[x2]
Here's where we prove all your fairytales wrong
This all stops tonight
Swim in your sea of smoke
Until your lungs lose the fight
It's over
This all stops tonight
Or prove me wrong
You'll never stop us with your one-man army
We would burn him alive
You'll never stop us with your one-man army
If you're such a man then bring the fight
[x2]
This is me calling you out
You want to talk like a man, then be a man
Stop talking like you're something (We're paging 1958)
You always have so much to say but it's never to our faces
I'm right here
(We're paging 1958)
We're all one and the same
We're moving on, and living our dreams (We're paging 1958)
We're all one and the same
We're moving on, and living our dreams (We're paging 1958)
Помню это, печально.
Почти уверен что будь я носителем я бы прочитал это с каменным лицом и забыл.
Но, сука, факт чтения на иностранном языке добавляет трагизма!
> Bandersnatch
Пикрелейтед.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled,
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-leaves,
And one by one with sighing sound,
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again,
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice lay on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled,
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-leaves,
And one by one with sighing sound,
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again,
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice lay on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
LOSE THIS FIGHT IN VOICE
Thy feet in mire, thine head in murk,
O man, how piteous thy plight,
The doubts that daunt, the ills that irk,
Thou hast nor wit nor will to fight—
How hope in heart, or worth in work?
No star in sight!
Thy gods proved puppets of the priest.
“Truth? All’s relation!” science sighed.
In bondage with thy brother beast,
Love tortured thee, as Love’s hope died
And Lover’s faith rotted. Life no least
Dim star descried.
Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled
To find itself a chance-cast clod
Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled
That aimless accident thus trod
Its agony, that void skies sprawled
On the vain sod!
All souls eternally exist,
Each individual, ultimate,
Perfect—each makes itself a mist
Of mind and flesh to celebrate
With some twin mask their tender tryst
Insatiate.
Some drunkards, doting on the dream,
Despair that it should die, mistake
Themselves for their own shadow-scheme.
One star can summon them to wake
To self; star-souls serene that gleam
On life’s calm lake.
That shall end never that began.
All things endure because they are.
Do what thou wilt, for every man
And every woman is a star.
Pan is not dead; he liveth, Pan!
Break down the bar!
To man I come, the number of
A man my number, Lion of Light;
I am The Beast whose Law is Love.
Love under will, his royal right—
Behold within, and not above,
One star in sight!
O man, how piteous thy plight,
The doubts that daunt, the ills that irk,
Thou hast nor wit nor will to fight—
How hope in heart, or worth in work?
No star in sight!
Thy gods proved puppets of the priest.
“Truth? All’s relation!” science sighed.
In bondage with thy brother beast,
Love tortured thee, as Love’s hope died
And Lover’s faith rotted. Life no least
Dim star descried.
Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled
To find itself a chance-cast clod
Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled
That aimless accident thus trod
Its agony, that void skies sprawled
On the vain sod!
All souls eternally exist,
Each individual, ultimate,
Perfect—each makes itself a mist
Of mind and flesh to celebrate
With some twin mask their tender tryst
Insatiate.
Some drunkards, doting on the dream,
Despair that it should die, mistake
Themselves for their own shadow-scheme.
One star can summon them to wake
To self; star-souls serene that gleam
On life’s calm lake.
That shall end never that began.
All things endure because they are.
Do what thou wilt, for every man
And every woman is a star.
Pan is not dead; he liveth, Pan!
Break down the bar!
To man I come, the number of
A man my number, Lion of Light;
I am The Beast whose Law is Love.
Love under will, his royal right—
Behold within, and not above,
One star in sight!
Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again. And then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again. And then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
Чому-то пропел и проиграл. Халкрик - город?
Еще знание языков помогает мне думать. К единственной палитре слов родного языка добавляются другие.
Съеби во ВКОНТАКТИК пожалуйста.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
the fucking cops are fucking keen
to fucking keep it fucking clean
the fucking chief's a fucking swine
who fucking draws a fucking line
at fucking fun and fucking games
the fucking kids he fucking blames
are nowehere to be fucking found
anywhere in chicken town
the fucking scene is fucking sad
the fucking news is fucking bad
the fucking weed is fucking turf
the fucking speed is fucking surf
the fucking folks are fucking daft
don't make me fucking laugh
it fucking hurts to look around
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking view is fucking vile
for fucking miles and fucking miles
the fucking babies fucking cry
the fucking flowers fucking die
the fucking food is fucking muck
the fucking drains are fucking fucked
the colour scheme is fucking brown
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking pubs are fucking dull
the fucking clubs are fucking full
of fucking girls and fucking guys
with fucking murder in their eyes
a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
waiting for a fucking cab
you fucking stay at fucking home
the fucking neighbors fucking moan
keep the fucking racket down
this is fucking chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking pies are fucking old
the fucking chips are fucking cold
the fucking beer is fucking flat
the fucking flats have fucking rats
the fucking clocks are fucking wrong
the fucking days are fucking long
it fucking gets you fucking down
evidently chicken town
to fucking keep it fucking clean
the fucking chief's a fucking swine
who fucking draws a fucking line
at fucking fun and fucking games
the fucking kids he fucking blames
are nowehere to be fucking found
anywhere in chicken town
the fucking scene is fucking sad
the fucking news is fucking bad
the fucking weed is fucking turf
the fucking speed is fucking surf
the fucking folks are fucking daft
don't make me fucking laugh
it fucking hurts to look around
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking view is fucking vile
for fucking miles and fucking miles
the fucking babies fucking cry
the fucking flowers fucking die
the fucking food is fucking muck
the fucking drains are fucking fucked
the colour scheme is fucking brown
everywhere in chicken town
the fucking pubs are fucking dull
the fucking clubs are fucking full
of fucking girls and fucking guys
with fucking murder in their eyes
a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
waiting for a fucking cab
you fucking stay at fucking home
the fucking neighbors fucking moan
keep the fucking racket down
this is fucking chicken town
the fucking train is fucking late
you fucking wait you fucking wait
you're fucking lost and fucking found
stuck in fucking chicken town
the fucking pies are fucking old
the fucking chips are fucking cold
the fucking beer is fucking flat
the fucking flats have fucking rats
the fucking clocks are fucking wrong
the fucking days are fucking long
it fucking gets you fucking down
evidently chicken town
Два чаю этому.
Бля, что-то на уровне Максима Доши.
Охуенно.
гимн рационалов. ахуенный стих!
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
«THE PARTY WAS OVER THEN TOO
When I was about fifteen
I followed a beautiful girl
into the Communist Party of Canada.
There were secret meetings
and you got yelled at
if you were a minute late.
We studied the McCarran Act
passed by the stooges in Washington
and the Padlock Law
passed by their lackeys in colonized Quebec;
and they said nasty shit
about my family
and how we got our money.
They wanted to overthrow
the country that I loved
(and served, as a Sea Scout).
And even the good people
who wanted to change things,
they hated them too
and called them social fascists.
They had plans for criminals
like my uncles and aunties
and they even had plans
for my poor little mother
who had slipped out of Lithuania
with two frozen apples
and a bandana full of monopoly money.
They never let me get near the girl
and the girl never let me get near the girl.
She became more and more beautiful
until she married a lawyer
and became a social fascist herself
and very likely a criminal too.
But I admired the Communists
for their pig-headed devotion
to something absolutely wrong
It’s just a matter of time:
We’ll be landing this raft
on the Other Shore.
We’ll be taking that beach
on the Other Shore»
When I was about fifteen
I followed a beautiful girl
into the Communist Party of Canada.
There were secret meetings
and you got yelled at
if you were a minute late.
We studied the McCarran Act
passed by the stooges in Washington
and the Padlock Law
passed by their lackeys in colonized Quebec;
and they said nasty shit
about my family
and how we got our money.
They wanted to overthrow
the country that I loved
(and served, as a Sea Scout).
And even the good people
who wanted to change things,
they hated them too
and called them social fascists.
They had plans for criminals
like my uncles and aunties
and they even had plans
for my poor little mother
who had slipped out of Lithuania
with two frozen apples
and a bandana full of monopoly money.
They never let me get near the girl
and the girl never let me get near the girl.
She became more and more beautiful
until she married a lawyer
and became a social fascist herself
and very likely a criminal too.
But I admired the Communists
for their pig-headed devotion
to something absolutely wrong
It’s just a matter of time:
We’ll be landing this raft
on the Other Shore.
We’ll be taking that beach
on the Other Shore»
In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.
Just a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.
Shoot me like an Irish soldier.
Do not hang me like a dog,
For I fought to free old Ireland
On that still September morn.
All around the little bakery
Where we fought them hand to hand,
Shoot me like an Irish soldier,
For I fought to free Ireland
Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
British soldiers tortured Barry,
Just because he would not tell.
The names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered "No".
Proudly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose grief no one can tell.
For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Then to death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free.
Another martyr for old Ireland,
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish,
But can't keep their spirit down.
Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Barry will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die.
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.
Just a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.
Shoot me like an Irish soldier.
Do not hang me like a dog,
For I fought to free old Ireland
On that still September morn.
All around the little bakery
Where we fought them hand to hand,
Shoot me like an Irish soldier,
For I fought to free Ireland
Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
British soldiers tortured Barry,
Just because he would not tell.
The names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered "No".
Proudly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose grief no one can tell.
For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Then to death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free.
Another martyr for old Ireland,
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish,
But can't keep their spirit down.
Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Barry will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die.
"To love" by Nicolas Gor.
Let the past crumble waves on the pier,
We remember all the good,
Forget the sorrow.
For poor youth sped hazy distance of stars,
And for the love of the latter,
I propose a toast.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
I'm sorry for all the flowers,
That for other tore.
I'm sorry for all the bridges,
What are burned.
But we have built with you
Last fragile bridge.
For the return of love
I raise a toast.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let the past crumble waves on the pier,
We remember all the good,
Forget the sorrow.
For poor youth sped hazy distance of stars,
And for the love of the latter,
I propose a toast.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
I'm sorry for all the flowers,
That for other tore.
I'm sorry for all the bridges,
What are burned.
But we have built with you
Last fragile bridge.
For the return of love
I raise a toast.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love.
How to shine your eyes now,
Let's drink to love,
Let trembles crystal teardrop.
Let's drink to love,
And it is not necessary further ado,
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Let's drink to love, darling,
Let's drink to love.
Грустный, не видел его раньше.
Dancing alone again, again the rain falling
Снова одиноко танцуя, опять идет дождь.
Only the scent of you remains to dance with me
Лишь твой запах остается танцевать со мной.
Nobody showed me how to return
Никто не показал мне, как отвечать
The Love you give to me
На любовь, что ты даешь мне.
Mom never hugged me,
Меня никогда не обнимала мама,
Dad loves a stranger more than me
Папа любил любого незнакомца сильнее, чем меня.
I never wanted to ever bring you down
Я никогда не хотела опускать тебя,
All that I need
Все что мне нужно -
Are some simple loving words
Простые слова любви.
You touched my body once,
Однажды ты коснулся меня,
It burns me still softly
Тело все еще мягко горит.
Never forgets, never again
Никогда не забуду, больше никогда
Will be, I cry
Этого не будет.... Я плачу....
Out of my head and I don't know
Прочь из моей головы, я не знаю,
What I found
Что нашла.
Over and over I feel
Снова и снова я чувствую,
It break me down
Как оно ломает меня.
On the sidewalk of the city
На тротуаре города, неужели
Are my screams just a whisper
Мои крики лишь шепот?
Busy people going nowhere see me
Занятые люди идут в никуда, видят,
Soak in the rain
Что я промокла под дождём до нитки.
No compassion, nothing matters,
Без сожаления, все теряет значимость.
My resistence is waning
Я прекращаю сопротивляться,
Like a flower in the basement waiting
Как цветок в подвале, ждущий
For a lonely death
Одинокой смерти.
Out of my head and I don't know
Прочь из моей головы, я не знаю,
What I found
Что нашла.
Over and over I feel
Снова и снова я чувствую,
It break me down
Как оно ломает меня.
On the sidewalk of the city
На тротуаре города, неужели
Are my screams just a whisper
Мои крики лишь шепот?
Busy people going nowhere see me
Занятые люди идут в никуда, видят,
Soak in the rain
Как я растворяюсь в дожде.
No compassion, nothing matters,
Без сожаления, все теряет значимость.
My resistence is waning
Я прекращаю сопротивляться,
Like a flower in the basement waiting
Как цветок в подвале, ждущий
For a lonely death
Снова одиноко танцуя, опять идет дождь.
Only the scent of you remains to dance with me
Лишь твой запах остается танцевать со мной.
Nobody showed me how to return
Никто не показал мне, как отвечать
The Love you give to me
На любовь, что ты даешь мне.
Mom never hugged me,
Меня никогда не обнимала мама,
Dad loves a stranger more than me
Папа любил любого незнакомца сильнее, чем меня.
I never wanted to ever bring you down
Я никогда не хотела опускать тебя,
All that I need
Все что мне нужно -
Are some simple loving words
Простые слова любви.
You touched my body once,
Однажды ты коснулся меня,
It burns me still softly
Тело все еще мягко горит.
Never forgets, never again
Никогда не забуду, больше никогда
Will be, I cry
Этого не будет.... Я плачу....
Out of my head and I don't know
Прочь из моей головы, я не знаю,
What I found
Что нашла.
Over and over I feel
Снова и снова я чувствую,
It break me down
Как оно ломает меня.
On the sidewalk of the city
На тротуаре города, неужели
Are my screams just a whisper
Мои крики лишь шепот?
Busy people going nowhere see me
Занятые люди идут в никуда, видят,
Soak in the rain
Что я промокла под дождём до нитки.
No compassion, nothing matters,
Без сожаления, все теряет значимость.
My resistence is waning
Я прекращаю сопротивляться,
Like a flower in the basement waiting
Как цветок в подвале, ждущий
For a lonely death
Одинокой смерти.
Out of my head and I don't know
Прочь из моей головы, я не знаю,
What I found
Что нашла.
Over and over I feel
Снова и снова я чувствую,
It break me down
Как оно ломает меня.
On the sidewalk of the city
На тротуаре города, неужели
Are my screams just a whisper
Мои крики лишь шепот?
Busy people going nowhere see me
Занятые люди идут в никуда, видят,
Soak in the rain
Как я растворяюсь в дожде.
No compassion, nothing matters,
Без сожаления, все теряет значимость.
My resistence is waning
Я прекращаю сопротивляться,
Like a flower in the basement waiting
Как цветок в подвале, ждущий
For a lonely death
Red Lion famed and feared of old
On Scotland's battle field,
The blazon of her banner fold—
The 'scutcheon of her shield.
Meet emblem of her heroes, whom
Thou ledd'st to battle forth,
And ledd'st to triumph, or a tomb,
Red Lion of the North
The warlike Pict, the wandering Dane,
Oft thou hast made to mourn,
And sterner glories dyed thy name,—
The blood of Bannockburn!
On later fields, in many a clime,
Hast thou pawed proudly forth,
Triumphant as of olden time,
Red Lion of the North
The chieftain's cairn, the martyr's grave,
Where sleep the heroic dead,
May ne'er the footstep of a slave,
Profane them with their tread—
Nor vainly may the Future see
Our armed hosts go forth,
Beneath St. Andrew's cross, and thee,
Red Lion of the North
The ancient mind, the ancient might,
Still may our hills produce,
To wield the sword of Wallace wight,
The battle-axe of Bruce !
The soul to love the minstrel's lore,
And prize the patriot's worth.
The spirit of the years of yore,
Red Lion of the North
High honour unto thine and thee,
For never shalt thou wave,
But from the flag-staff of the free,
The banner of the brave !
And by thy glories in the past,
When Scotland bears thee forth,
Stand thou for freedom, first and last.
Red Lion of the North
On Scotland's battle field,
The blazon of her banner fold—
The 'scutcheon of her shield.
Meet emblem of her heroes, whom
Thou ledd'st to battle forth,
And ledd'st to triumph, or a tomb,
Red Lion of the North
The warlike Pict, the wandering Dane,
Oft thou hast made to mourn,
And sterner glories dyed thy name,—
The blood of Bannockburn!
On later fields, in many a clime,
Hast thou pawed proudly forth,
Triumphant as of olden time,
Red Lion of the North
The chieftain's cairn, the martyr's grave,
Where sleep the heroic dead,
May ne'er the footstep of a slave,
Profane them with their tread—
Nor vainly may the Future see
Our armed hosts go forth,
Beneath St. Andrew's cross, and thee,
Red Lion of the North
The ancient mind, the ancient might,
Still may our hills produce,
To wield the sword of Wallace wight,
The battle-axe of Bruce !
The soul to love the minstrel's lore,
And prize the patriot's worth.
The spirit of the years of yore,
Red Lion of the North
High honour unto thine and thee,
For never shalt thou wave,
But from the flag-staff of the free,
The banner of the brave !
And by thy glories in the past,
When Scotland bears thee forth,
Stand thou for freedom, first and last.
Red Lion of the North
Еще покидаю
It started long before me...
Это началось задолго до меня...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не видел, как это приходит...
The distance, the promise...
Расстояние, обещание...
A state of isolation...
Состояние изоляции.
And in my darkest nightmare,
И в моем самом страшном кошмаре
Things that I can't remember...
То, что я не могу вспомнить...
The answer is drowning, this pain will last forever.
Ответ тонет, эта боль будет длиться вечно.
My father...
Мой отец...
His duty...
Его долг...
His orders...
Его приказы...
My brother...
Мой брат...
The promise...
Обещание...
The breaking...
Нарушается...
Rejection...
Отрицание...
Deception...
Обман...
Reflection...
Размышление...
Conception...
Осознание...
The listening...
Слух...
The torture...
Мучение...
The madness...
Безумие...
The sadness...
Печаль...
Can this be?
Может это быть?
Or is it?
Или нет?
The shadow cast before me...
Тень отбрасывается передо мной...
A walk inside your circle...
Я хожу внутри твоего круга...
Protect me...
Защити меня...
Correct me...
Поправь меня....
You got your orders, soldier...
Ты получил свои приказы, солдат...
Inside my head is humming...
Внутри моя голова гудит....
Sometimes I hear them coming...
Иногда я слышу, как они идут...
The power...
Сила...
Believing...
Вера....
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
Where is this?
Где это?
It can't be...
Этого не может быть...
Who are you?
Кто ты?
I know you...
Я знаю...
You wouldn't...
Ты нет,
Or would you?
Или да?
Don't fight me!
Не сражайся со мной!
Ignite me!
Сожги меня!
My trigger...
Моё ружьё...
Your finger...
Твой палец...
Your darkness...
Твоя тьма...
I know it...
Я знаю это...
Come forward!
Выходи!
I've seen it!
Я видел это!
I mean it!
Я не вру, я серьёзно!
Your power, is over!
Твоя сила закончилась!
I've come to change the order!
Я пришёл изменить приказ!
My training, is perfect!
Моя подготовка идеальна!
I'm back, again, your promise, is broken!
Я возвращаюсь снова, твое обещание нарушено!
I drank your sacred water, my mission is holy!
Я выпил твою святую воду, моя миссия священна!
I'm back.
Я возвращаюсь.
My father...
Мой отец...
His duty...
Его долг...
His orders...
Его приказы...
My brother...
Мой брат...
The promise...
Обещание...
The breaking...
Нарушается...
Rejection...
Отрицание...
Deception...
Обман...
Reflections...
Размышление...
Conception...
Осознание...
The listening...
Слух...
The torture...
Мучение...
The madness...
Безумие...
The sadness...
Печаль...
Can this be...?
Может это быть?
Your power, is over!
Твоя сила закончилась!
I've come to change the order
Я пришёл изменить приказ!
My training, is perfect!
Моя подготовка идеальна!
I'm back, again!
Я возвращаюсь снова.
Your promise, is broken!
Твое обещание нарушено!
I've drank your sacred water, my mission is holy!
Я выпил твою святую воду, моя миссия священна!
I'm back.
Я возвращаюсь.
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
You have your orders, soldier...
Ты получил свои приказы, солдат...
It started long before me...
Это началось задолго до меня...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не видел, как это приходит...
The distance, the promise...
Расстояние, обещание...
A state of isolation...
Состояние изоляции.
And in my darkest nightmare,
И в моем самом страшном кошмаре
Things that I can't remember...
То, что я не могу вспомнить...
The answer is drowning, this pain will last forever.
Ответ тонет, эта боль будет длиться вечно.
My father...
Мой отец...
His duty...
Его долг...
His orders...
Его приказы...
My brother...
Мой брат...
The promise...
Обещание...
The breaking...
Нарушается...
Rejection...
Отрицание...
Deception...
Обман...
Reflection...
Размышление...
Conception...
Осознание...
The listening...
Слух...
The torture...
Мучение...
The madness...
Безумие...
The sadness...
Печаль...
Can this be?
Может это быть?
Or is it?
Или нет?
The shadow cast before me...
Тень отбрасывается передо мной...
A walk inside your circle...
Я хожу внутри твоего круга...
Protect me...
Защити меня...
Correct me...
Поправь меня....
You got your orders, soldier...
Ты получил свои приказы, солдат...
Inside my head is humming...
Внутри моя голова гудит....
Sometimes I hear them coming...
Иногда я слышу, как они идут...
The power...
Сила...
Believing...
Вера....
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
Where is this?
Где это?
It can't be...
Этого не может быть...
Who are you?
Кто ты?
I know you...
Я знаю...
You wouldn't...
Ты нет,
Or would you?
Или да?
Don't fight me!
Не сражайся со мной!
Ignite me!
Сожги меня!
My trigger...
Моё ружьё...
Your finger...
Твой палец...
Your darkness...
Твоя тьма...
I know it...
Я знаю это...
Come forward!
Выходи!
I've seen it!
Я видел это!
I mean it!
Я не вру, я серьёзно!
Your power, is over!
Твоя сила закончилась!
I've come to change the order!
Я пришёл изменить приказ!
My training, is perfect!
Моя подготовка идеальна!
I'm back, again, your promise, is broken!
Я возвращаюсь снова, твое обещание нарушено!
I drank your sacred water, my mission is holy!
Я выпил твою святую воду, моя миссия священна!
I'm back.
Я возвращаюсь.
My father...
Мой отец...
His duty...
Его долг...
His orders...
Его приказы...
My brother...
Мой брат...
The promise...
Обещание...
The breaking...
Нарушается...
Rejection...
Отрицание...
Deception...
Обман...
Reflections...
Размышление...
Conception...
Осознание...
The listening...
Слух...
The torture...
Мучение...
The madness...
Безумие...
The sadness...
Печаль...
Can this be...?
Может это быть?
Your power, is over!
Твоя сила закончилась!
I've come to change the order
Я пришёл изменить приказ!
My training, is perfect!
Моя подготовка идеальна!
I'm back, again!
Я возвращаюсь снова.
Your promise, is broken!
Твое обещание нарушено!
I've drank your sacred water, my mission is holy!
Я выпил твою святую воду, моя миссия священна!
I'm back.
Я возвращаюсь.
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
The hate I hate believing...
Ненависть, я ненавижу верить...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
I never saw it coming...
Я никогда не думал, что это приближается...
You have your orders, soldier...
Ты получил свои приказы, солдат...
Говно какое то постите, пидоры.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Эти два
мимопревозмогатор
Бамп
Бамп
Разве тексты песен это стихи?
My plant is roaring
Just like bee-hive.
Shit, this is boring,
I fuck this life.
за правильность не ручаюсь
Just like bee-hive.
Shit, this is boring,
I fuck this life.
за правильность не ручаюсь
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes
Again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need
Of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the king's highway, baby
Weird seems inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
Ride the snake
Ride the snake, to the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long seven miles
Ride the snake
He is old and his skin is cold
The West is the best
The West is the best
Get here and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where you taking us
The killer awoke before dawn
He put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went to the room where his sister lived
And then he paid a visit to his brother
And then he walked on down the hall
And he came to a door,and he looked inside
"Father?" - "Yes, son?" - "I want to kill you,
Mother, I want to..."
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
(Blue bus still now...
Come on, girl)
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend, the end
It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of night we tried to die
This is the end
This is the end, my only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes
Again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need
Of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the king's highway, baby
Weird seems inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
Ride the snake
Ride the snake, to the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long seven miles
Ride the snake
He is old and his skin is cold
The West is the best
The West is the best
Get here and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where you taking us
The killer awoke before dawn
He put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went to the room where his sister lived
And then he paid a visit to his brother
And then he walked on down the hall
And he came to a door,and he looked inside
"Father?" - "Yes, son?" - "I want to kill you,
Mother, I want to..."
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
(Blue bus still now...
Come on, girl)
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend, the end
It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of night we tried to die
This is the end
У него еще кондишнл дисчардж охуенный.
Down the river floats an ax
From the town of Byron.
Let it float by itself
Fuckin' piece of iron!
Вы хоть бы отписывались почему они вам нравятся. А то отправят фак через фак и думаешь, что за дауны это сделали. Объясняйте свою позицию.
Риал хьюман бин
Энд э риал хироууу
Энд э риал хироууу
Вот-вот
Roses are red
Violets are blue
All my base
Are belong to you
Violets are blue
All my base
Are belong to you
Даже в школе рифмированым переводом сиего занимался месяца 2 вместо уроков =)
Are you a man of peace
Or a man of holy war?
Too many sides to you
Dont know which anymore
So many full of life
But also filled with pain
Dont know just how many
Will live to breathe again
A life thats made to breath
Destruction or defense
A mind thats vain, corruption
Bad or good intent
A wolf in sheeps clothing
Or saintly or sinner
Or some that would believe
A holy war winner
They fire off many shots
And many parting blows
Their actions beyond a reasoning
Only God would know
And as He lies in Heaven
Or it could be in Hell
I feel he's somewhere here
Or looking from below
But I dont know, I dont know
Please tell me now what life is
Please tell me now what love is
Well, tell me now what war is
Again, tell me what life is
More pain and misery
In the history of mankind
Sometimes it seems more like
The blind leading the blind
It brings upon us more
A famine, death and war
You know religion has
A lot to answer for
And as they search to find
The bodies in the sand
They find its ashes that are
Scattered across the land
And as the spirits seem
To whistle on the wind
A shot is fired somewhere
Another war begins
And all because of it
Youd think that we would learn
But still the body count
The city fires burn
Somewhere there's someone dying
In a foreign land
Meanwhile the world is crying
Stupidity of man
He gave his life for us
He fell upon the Cross
To die for all of those
Who never mourn His loss
It wasnt meant for us
To feel the pain again
Tell me why, tell me why
From the bonny bells of heather,
They brewed a drink long syne,
Was sweeter far than honey,
Was stronger far than wine.
They brewed it and they drank it,
And lay in blessed swound,
For days and days together,
In their dwellings underground.
There rose a King in Scotland,
A fell man to his foes,
He smote the Picts in battle,
He hunted them like roes.
Over miles of the red mountain
He hunted as they fled,
And strewed the dwarfish bodies
Of the dying and the dead.
Summer came in the country,
Red was the heather bell,
But the manner of the brewing,
Was none alive to tell.
In graves that were like children’s
On many a mountain’s head,
The Brewsters of the Heather
Lay numbered with the dead.
The king in the red moorland
Rode on a summer’s day;
And the bees hummed and the curlews
Cried beside the way.
The King rode and was angry,
Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather,
And lack the Heather Ale.
It fortuned that his vassals,
Riding free upon the heath,
Came on a stone that was fallen
And vermin hid beneath.
Roughly plucked from their hiding,
Never a word they spoke:
A son and his aged father -
Last of the dwarfish folk.
The king sat high on his charger,
He looked down on the little men;
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple
Looked at the king again.
Down by the shore he had them:
And there on the giddy brink -
I will give thee life ye vermin,
For the secret of the drink.
There stood the son and father
And they looked high and low;
The heather was red around them,
The sea rumbled below.
And up spoke the father,
Shrill was his voice to hear:
I have a word in private,
A word for the royal ear.
Life is dear to the aged,
And honour a little thing;
I would gladly sell the secret,
Quoth the Pict to the King.
His voice was small as a sparrow’s,
And shrill and wonderful clear:
I would gladly sell my secret,
Only my son I fear.
For life is a little matter,
And death is nought to the young;
And I dare not sell my honour,
Under the eye of my son.
Take him, O king, and bind him,
And cast him far in the deep;
And it’s I will tell the secret
That I have sworn to keep.
They took the son and bound him,
Neck and heels in a thong,
And a lad took him and swung him,
And flung him far and strong
And the sea swallowed his body,
Like that of a child of ten;
And there on the cliff stood the father,
Last of the dwarfish men.
True was the word I told you:
Only my son I feared;
For I doubt the sapling courage,
That goes without the beard.
But now in vain is the torture,
Fire shall not avail:
Here dies in my bosom
The secret of the Heather Ale.
They brewed a drink long syne,
Was sweeter far than honey,
Was stronger far than wine.
They brewed it and they drank it,
And lay in blessed swound,
For days and days together,
In their dwellings underground.
There rose a King in Scotland,
A fell man to his foes,
He smote the Picts in battle,
He hunted them like roes.
Over miles of the red mountain
He hunted as they fled,
And strewed the dwarfish bodies
Of the dying and the dead.
Summer came in the country,
Red was the heather bell,
But the manner of the brewing,
Was none alive to tell.
In graves that were like children’s
On many a mountain’s head,
The Brewsters of the Heather
Lay numbered with the dead.
The king in the red moorland
Rode on a summer’s day;
And the bees hummed and the curlews
Cried beside the way.
The King rode and was angry,
Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather,
And lack the Heather Ale.
It fortuned that his vassals,
Riding free upon the heath,
Came on a stone that was fallen
And vermin hid beneath.
Roughly plucked from their hiding,
Never a word they spoke:
A son and his aged father -
Last of the dwarfish folk.
The king sat high on his charger,
He looked down on the little men;
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple
Looked at the king again.
Down by the shore he had them:
And there on the giddy brink -
I will give thee life ye vermin,
For the secret of the drink.
There stood the son and father
And they looked high and low;
The heather was red around them,
The sea rumbled below.
And up spoke the father,
Shrill was his voice to hear:
I have a word in private,
A word for the royal ear.
Life is dear to the aged,
And honour a little thing;
I would gladly sell the secret,
Quoth the Pict to the King.
His voice was small as a sparrow’s,
And shrill and wonderful clear:
I would gladly sell my secret,
Only my son I fear.
For life is a little matter,
And death is nought to the young;
And I dare not sell my honour,
Under the eye of my son.
Take him, O king, and bind him,
And cast him far in the deep;
And it’s I will tell the secret
That I have sworn to keep.
They took the son and bound him,
Neck and heels in a thong,
And a lad took him and swung him,
And flung him far and strong
And the sea swallowed his body,
Like that of a child of ten;
And there on the cliff stood the father,
Last of the dwarfish men.
True was the word I told you:
Only my son I feared;
For I doubt the sapling courage,
That goes without the beard.
But now in vain is the torture,
Fire shall not avail:
Here dies in my bosom
The secret of the Heather Ale.
I had a cat named Snowball...
She died!
She died!
Mom said she was sleeping...
She lied!
She lied!
Why oh why is my cat dead?
Couldn’t that Chrysler hit me instead?
She died!
She died!
Mom said she was sleeping...
She lied!
She lied!
Why oh why is my cat dead?
Couldn’t that Chrysler hit me instead?
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Две пинты пива тебе, любитель Бернса.
Есть двуязычный сборник стихов Киплинга, на одной странице оригинал, а рядом перевод. "Мэри Глостер" - лютейший вин. Даже в переводе.
Не видывал смерть, Дикки? Учись, как уходим мы.
Очень хороший. Не слышал раньше, но очень понравился.
Я знаю только один стих на английском.
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on a Tuesday,
Married on a Wednesday,
Took ill in Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on a Tuesday,
Married on a Wednesday,
Took ill in Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.
The Good Ship Venus
Aboard the good ship Venus,
You really should have seen us,
With a figurehead of a whore in bed,
And a mast of a phallic genus
The captain of the lugger,
Was known as a filthy bugger,
Declared unfit to shovel grit,
From one ship to another.
The cabin boys name was Chipper,
A Randy little nipper,
He made a pass with a broken glass,
And circumcised the skipper.
The first mate's name was Morgan,
By gosh, he was a gorgon,
From half past eight he played till late,
Upon the captain's organ
The captain's wife was Charlotte,
Born and bred a harlot,
Her thighs at night were lily white,
By morning they were scarlet.
The captain's daughter, Mabel,
Though young, was fresh and able,
To fornicate with the second mate,
Upon the chartroom table.
The captain's younger daughter,
Was washed into the water,
Her plaintive squeals announced that eels,
Had found her sexual quarter.
The ship's dog's name was Rover,
We turned that poor thing over,
And ground and ground that faithful hound
From Teneriff to Dover.
And when we reached our station,
Through skillful navigation,
The ship got sunk, in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication.
Aboard the good ship Venus,
You really should have seen us,
With a figurehead of a whore in bed,
And a mast of a phallic genus
The captain of the lugger,
Was known as a filthy bugger,
Declared unfit to shovel grit,
From one ship to another.
The cabin boys name was Chipper,
A Randy little nipper,
He made a pass with a broken glass,
And circumcised the skipper.
The first mate's name was Morgan,
By gosh, he was a gorgon,
From half past eight he played till late,
Upon the captain's organ
The captain's wife was Charlotte,
Born and bred a harlot,
Her thighs at night were lily white,
By morning they were scarlet.
The captain's daughter, Mabel,
Though young, was fresh and able,
To fornicate with the second mate,
Upon the chartroom table.
The captain's younger daughter,
Was washed into the water,
Her plaintive squeals announced that eels,
Had found her sexual quarter.
The ship's dog's name was Rover,
We turned that poor thing over,
And ground and ground that faithful hound
From Teneriff to Dover.
And when we reached our station,
Through skillful navigation,
The ship got sunk, in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Around The Corner
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim
Just to show that I'm thinking of him",
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
"Here's a telegram sir," "Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim
Just to show that I'm thinking of him",
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
"Here's a telegram sir," "Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
Здорово.
Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing thro'
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing thro'
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
Почему-то вспомнил, как отпускал в сонике чао в лес и какая грустная музыка играла при этом и заплакал.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
I was a bum in San Francisco but once managed
to go to a symphony concert along with the well-dressed people
and the music was good but something about the
audience was not
and something about the orchestra
and the conductor was
not,
although the building was fine and the
acoustics perfect
I preferred to listen to the music alone
on my radio
and afterwards I did go back to my room and I
turned on the radio but
then there was a pounding on the wall:
“SHUT THAT GOD-DAMNED THING OFF!”
there was a soldier in the next room
living with his wife
and he would soon be going over there to protect
me from Hitler so
I snapped the radio off and then heard his
wife say, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
and the soldier said, “FUCK THAT GUY!”
which I thought was a very nice thing for him
to tell his wife to do.
of course,
she never did.
anyhow, I never went to another live concert
and that night I listened to the radio very
quietly, my ear pressed to the
speaker.
war has its price and peace never lasts and
millions of young men everywhere would die
and as I listened to classical music I heard them making love, desperately and
mournfully, through Shostakovich, Brahms,
Mozart, through crescendo and climax,
and through the shared
wall of our darkness.
Не стих совсем, наверное, но мне очень по-нраву.
to go to a symphony concert along with the well-dressed people
and the music was good but something about the
audience was not
and something about the orchestra
and the conductor was
not,
although the building was fine and the
acoustics perfect
I preferred to listen to the music alone
on my radio
and afterwards I did go back to my room and I
turned on the radio but
then there was a pounding on the wall:
“SHUT THAT GOD-DAMNED THING OFF!”
there was a soldier in the next room
living with his wife
and he would soon be going over there to protect
me from Hitler so
I snapped the radio off and then heard his
wife say, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
and the soldier said, “FUCK THAT GUY!”
which I thought was a very nice thing for him
to tell his wife to do.
of course,
she never did.
anyhow, I never went to another live concert
and that night I listened to the radio very
quietly, my ear pressed to the
speaker.
war has its price and peace never lasts and
millions of young men everywhere would die
and as I listened to classical music I heard them making love, desperately and
mournfully, through Shostakovich, Brahms,
Mozart, through crescendo and climax,
and through the shared
wall of our darkness.
Не стих совсем, наверное, но мне очень по-нраву.
