Сэмюэль Дэниэл 1562 1619 Сонет 6
Краса жестока, так же как прекрасна:
Хоть брови хмурит, очи - небосвод,
Улыбка – блеск, но гордость в ней – ужасна,
Её презренье – жёлчь, любезность – мёд.
Стыда румянец – деве украшенье,
Тропой любви идёт она в цветах,
Все на неё взирают в изумленье,
Святая здесь – свята на небесах.
Краса и честь всегда врагами были –
А ныне дружат на её челе.
О, хватит ли ей жалости усилий
Мои стенанья слышать на земле?
Была бы зла, когда нехороша,
Моя спала бы муза и душа.
Samuel Daniel
Sonnet VI (from “Delia”)
Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair;
Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are sunny;
Her smiles are lightning though her pride despair;
And her disdains are gall, her favours honey;
A modest maid, decked with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love;
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her,
Sacred on earth, designed a saint above.
Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow;
And had she pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
O had she not been fair and thus unkind,
My Muse had slept and none had known my mind!
Хоть брови хмурит, очи - небосвод,
Улыбка – блеск, но гордость в ней – ужасна,
Её презренье – жёлчь, любезность – мёд.
Стыда румянец – деве украшенье,
Тропой любви идёт она в цветах,
Все на неё взирают в изумленье,
Святая здесь – свята на небесах.
Краса и честь всегда врагами были –
А ныне дружат на её челе.
О, хватит ли ей жалости усилий
Мои стенанья слышать на земле?
Была бы зла, когда нехороша,
Моя спала бы муза и душа.
Samuel Daniel
Sonnet VI (from “Delia”)
Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair;
Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are sunny;
Her smiles are lightning though her pride despair;
And her disdains are gall, her favours honey;
A modest maid, decked with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love;
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her,
Sacred on earth, designed a saint above.
Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow;
And had she pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
O had she not been fair and thus unkind,
My Muse had slept and none had known my mind!
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