• Язык:
    Польский (Polska)



Za to, że jestem spokojniejszy
I wolność mi się już nie marzy,
O najjaśniejszej, o najzgrabniejszej
Przyroda ze mną czule gwarzy.

W upale, w stronie odleglejszej,
Z siebie i słońca wielce rada,
O najzgrabniejszej, o tej najbielszej
Wytrwale śpiewa mi cykada.

W odpływie fali migotliwej
Ujrzę srebrzyste kołysanie, —
O tej najbielszej, o dobrotliwej
Śpiewne wspomnienie pozostanie.

Noc stawia żagle najciemniejsze
I płynie znów na szlak nie nowy,
O dobrotliwej, o najmilejszej
Sen mi się przyśni kolorowy.

Другие переводы:

  • Венгерский
    Иштван Бака

А вот еще:

The Leopard

If you don't immediately singe the whiskers off n killed / leopard, its spirit will persecute the hunter. / Abyssinian Lore / / The leopard I killed / is up to witc hcraft / and sorcery in my room / in the deep silence of the nights. / People come in and go away, / last of all she...

With all your empty words’ addresses...

With all your empty words’ addresses / The girl’s besotted and she’s bloomed, / For there she combs her golden tresses, / By festive mood she’s all-consumed. / Now summoned by the church bells ringing / For you she takes her prayer’s refrain. / The sun and s...

Of all the countless stars above...

Of all the countless stars above / I’ve chosen this, our world so gloomy. / And in this world I’ve come to love / Some cheerful pathways set before me. / / And when an unexpected grief / My soul in secret starts assailing, / I peer into sky’s cloudy reef / Until my...

By the fireplace

The shadows gathered... The fire dwindled, / Standing alone, he gazed through the window, / / Arms folded, eyes fixed on the distance, / He spoke of his sadness with bitter persistence: / / "I’ve entered the depths of the lands yet unknown, / My caravan moved eighty days in a...


Over the reeds of the tardy Nile, / Where only butterflies and birds / Are found, hides a forgotten tomb / Of a culpable but enchanting queen. / / The nightly mist carries its own deceit, / The moon rises, as a sinful siren, / A pale fog streaks through, / And from a cave, skulks a ...

The Sick Man

In my delirium, only the endlessness / Of some sharp lines plagues me, / And the bell incessantly tolls / As a clock, striking eternity. / / It seems to me, that after death it’s how, / With an agonising hope of resurrection, / The eyes get fixed on the surrounding murk, / See...