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Жатва – пора наших сборов - Вячеслав Переверзев
спасибо Тебе - ворвуль сергей
Насіння (The seed) - Калінін Микола
Це переклад з Роберта У. Сервіса (Robert W. Service)
I was a seed that fell
In silver dew;
And nobody could tell,
For no one knew;
No one could tell my fate,
As I grew tall;
None visioned me with hate,
No, none at all.
A sapling I became,
Blest by the sun;
No rumour of my shame
Had any one.
Oh I was proud indeed,
And sang with glee,
When from a tiny seed
I grew a tree.
I was so stout and strong
Though still so young,
When sudden came a throng
With angry tongue;
They cleft me to the core
With savage blows,
And from their ranks a roar
Of rage arose.
I was so proud a seed
A tree to grow;
Surely there was no need
To lay me low.
Why did I end so ill,
The midst of three
Black crosses on a hill
Called Calvary?
>>> Все произведения раздела Поэзия >>>
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Поэзия :
Предвестник пробуждения - Дина Маяцкая
Проповеди :
О суверенитете истинном и мнимом. («Спасен»; часть 10) - Сергей Сгибнев
Поэзия :
Пробегает пред нами столетье - Вячеслав Переверзев
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