• Язык:
    Сербский (Српски)

Дездемона

Дездемона

Кад у спаваћу ступи Дездемона,
Бијаше тихо, загушљиво мрачно
Само је месец вирео кроз окно
Радознало, с туђег небесклона.

И мавар страшни с изгледом дракона,
Што сву вече пијаше кипарско вино,
Приђе јој, - он је чекао је давно, -
Не хајућ дал ће заплакати она.

Напрасно и с безизлазном тугом
Она је грабила својом руком танком
Његове челичне руке- ал бијаше касно.

И, задихана, размишљаше она:
«О ,збиља, у дане када грми рат
Он је тако грозан и непознат!»

А вот еще:

The White Willow

The white willow was black, up on the hill, / crows puffed faintly; / in the blue, the very blue meadow / clouds wandered like sheep. / And intending to give yourself / you said, "I love you - " / and grass grew all around, grass like an ocean, / and it was afternoon. / I was kissing...

My Hour

It’s not dawn yet, / not night, not morning. / A crow under my window, / half awake, lifts one wing, / and in the sky star after star / melts forever. / Now: this is my hour, I can do anything - / my mind can reach through to a helpless enemy / and leap on his chest / like a ...

A Knight of Happiness

How easy the world comes! / You - angry at life, / you - sighing like the wind, / I can make everyone happy. / / Come: I’ll tell you / about a green-eyed girl, / and the blue darkness of morning, / shot through with poems and light. / / Come! I’ll tell you, I need /...

A Little Song

That scent is you, / only you, / you move, you shine / like the moon. / / Things you’ve touched / are holy, / blessed with a new / beauty. / / Who can bother / worrying, / can keep from wanting / you? / / The pain...

My Days

My days blow dully / by, as painful as ever, / like a rose-petal rain, / like nightingales dying. / / But she too knows pain, / she who commanded / my love, and her satin skin / flushes with poisoned blood. / / And if I stay alive / it’s all for a single / dream: like...

A Portrait

Only a diamond / left lying on black velvet / shines / like her almost singing eyes. / / The unfocussed white / of her porcelain body / torments, like lilac petals / in dying moonlight. / / And if her arms are gentle wax, their / blood flows just as hot / as the eternal can...