Стихотворение «Придет ласковый дождь» написано американской поэтессой Сарой Тисдэйл (1884-1933). Перевод мой.
Придет ласковый дождь
Придет ласковый дождь, запах свежей земли,
И ласточек крик будет слышен вдали;
И песнь лягушачья прольется в ночи,
Слива платье примерит из белой парчи;
Зарянка, одев желтоперый узор,
Трелью зайдется, вспорхнув на забор;
Не вспомнит никто никогда, ни одна
Тварь не возликует, что кончена война.
Ни древо, ни птица не узнает забот,
Если канет в забвенье человеческий род;
И Весна самолично, встречая рассвет,
Едва ли заметит, что нас уже нет.
There will come soft rains
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Придет ласковый дождь
Придет ласковый дождь, запах свежей земли,
И ласточек крик будет слышен вдали;
И песнь лягушачья прольется в ночи,
Слива платье примерит из белой парчи;
Зарянка, одев желтоперый узор,
Трелью зайдется, вспорхнув на забор;
Не вспомнит никто никогда, ни одна
Тварь не возликует, что кончена война.
Ни древо, ни птица не узнает забот,
Если канет в забвенье человеческий род;
И Весна самолично, встречая рассвет,
Едва ли заметит, что нас уже нет.
There will come soft rains
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
The poem "The gentle rain will come" was written by the American poet Sarah Tisdale (1884-1933). My translation
The gentle rain will come
A gentle rain will come, the smell of fresh earth,
And the swallows cry will be heard in the distance;
And the frog's song will be shed in the night,
Plum dress will try on white brocade;
Zaryanka, wearing a yellowfin pattern,
The trellis will come, flinging on the fence;
No one will ever remember
The creature does not exult that the war is over.
Neither the tree nor the bird will recognize the worries
If the human race sinks into oblivion;
And Spring itself, meeting the dawn,
It is hardly notice that we are no longer there.
There will come soft rains
The ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their fence-wire;
Know not the war
Will care at last when it is done.
Mind tree, nor bird tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
The gentle rain will come
A gentle rain will come, the smell of fresh earth,
And the swallows cry will be heard in the distance;
And the frog's song will be shed in the night,
Plum dress will try on white brocade;
Zaryanka, wearing a yellowfin pattern,
The trellis will come, flinging on the fence;
No one will ever remember
The creature does not exult that the war is over.
Neither the tree nor the bird will recognize the worries
If the human race sinks into oblivion;
And Spring itself, meeting the dawn,
It is hardly notice that we are no longer there.
There will come soft rains
The ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their fence-wire;
Know not the war
Will care at last when it is done.
Mind tree, nor bird tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
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Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Евгений Дружинин
