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Les descendants de Caïn

Потомки Каина

Il nous a dit vrai, l'esprit triste et austère
Qui prit le nom de l'étoile du matin:
«N'ayez pas peur du châtiment divin
Goûtez du fruit et soyez dieux sur la terre».

Pour les vieux s'ouvrirent tous les mystères,
Pour les jeunes hommes tous les possibles chemins,
Pour les jeunes filles les fruits ambrés et fins
Et les licornes blanches comme la lumière.

Mais pourquoi succombons-nous affaiblis
Comme si Quelqu'un nous tenait dans l'oubli,
De l'ancienne tentation nous voyons la terreur profonde,

Lorsqu'une main par hasard, parfois
Prend deux tiges, deux brins, deux bouts de bois
En les mettant en croix pour une seconde?

Другие переводы:

А вот еще:

She Who Scatters Stars

You’re not always proud, aloof; / you don’t always refuse me. / / You come to me, sometimes, / quietly, quietly, quietly, like in a dream. / / The hair above your forehead is heavy, full. / I’m never allowed to kiss it. / / And your wide eyes / are lit by a m...

Canzonet 1

How many of earth’s oceans I’ve sailed, oceans / ancient, gay, foam-covered; / how many matchless nights and days / have gone guiding caravans across the steppes... / / How we laughed, then, / my Muse and I, free... / Rhymes flew together like birds, / so many-I don&rsqu...

Canzonet 2

Your temple, Lord, is in Heaven, / but the earth is Your shelter, too. / Lime trees bloom in the forests, / and birds sing in the trees. / / Like Your cathedral bells, spring / moves across the fields, gay, / and flying on a dream’s wings / angels come to us, in spring. / /...

Canzonet 3

How quiet Nature has gone! / All eyes, all ears. / Our spirit leans, leans / toward that final, awful freedom. / / And earth will forget how soldiers / hurt her, how merchants sinned, / and Druids will teach on green hills / as once, once before they taught. / / And poets will ...


Well, that’s her, that’s how she is: Nature, and the spirit / refuses to know her. / There’s the meadow, hung with the scent of honey / and a whiff of swamps, / / And the beginning wail of the wind, / like wolves in the distance, / and up over the fringes of pine / ...


My words spawned giants, / and they sat guzzling wine / all night, crimson wine, / horrible wine. / / I would not have known such weariness / had they been drinking my blood; / Dawn’s fingers were running across / my back when I fell asleep. / / I woke when it was evening...