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Have you not heard his voice through groves at night--
The bard of love, the bard of his own sorrow?
When fields from rapture woke upon the morrow,
That sound so sad and simple of his pipe--
Have you not heard? Have you not met in bare dark forest bleak
The bard of love, the bard of his own sorrow?
Did you his hints of tears, his smiles not follow,
Or quiet looks whose eyes are filled with grief--
Have you not met? Have you not sighed, hearing his quiet voice,
The bard of love, the bard of his own sorrow?
When you looked at that youth in wooded hollow
And met the gaze of his despondent eyes
Have you not sighed? Певец Слыхали ль вы за рощей глас ночной
Певца любви, певца своей печали?
Когда поля в час утренний молчали,
Свирели звук унылый и простой
Слыхали ль вы? Встречали ль вы в пустынной тьме лесной
Певца любви, певца своей печали?
Следы ли слез, улыбку ль замечали,
Иль тихий взор, исполненный тоской,
Встречали вы? Вздохнули ль вы, внимая тихий глас
Певца любви, певца своей печали?
Когда в лесах вы юношу видали,
Встречая взор его потухших глаз,
Вздохнули ль вы? |
