Back перевод пер С. Маршака, Шекспир, с. 8
You are - the music, but the music sounds
You listen with some kind of melancholy.
Why do you like that mournful things; why are you
So joyous, when you meet a torture?
Where is the secret of that inner torture?
Isn't that the reason to your sadness now?
The reason that the sound row
Looks like reproach to your feeling lonely?
Hear now how the amicable strings
Are joining to the beginning of the music,
As if there are the one and loving family:
Mother and father, and their son in union.
The harmony of strings in concert shows,
That our way in life shoudn't be alone.
You listen with some kind of melancholy.
Why do you like that mournful things; why are you
So joyous, when you meet a torture?
Where is the secret of that inner torture?
Isn't that the reason to your sadness now?
The reason that the sound row
Looks like reproach to your feeling lonely?
Hear now how the amicable strings
Are joining to the beginning of the music,
As if there are the one and loving family:
Mother and father, and their son in union.
The harmony of strings in concert shows,
That our way in life shoudn't be alone.
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