Mikhail Lermontov
THE SAIL
Far off at sea through thin blue hazes
A lone white sail is looming faint.
What does he seek in distant places?
What he's in native land remained?
Waves are at play, the mast is creaking
And bending under whistling breeze...
It is not fortune he is seeking,
Nor is a happiness he flees!
Above the sail the sun beam’s burning,
Beneath - the stream like azure flows,
But restless, he's for tempest yearning,
As if the tempests give repose!
English translation by Kovalevsky Vladimir
Парус
© Copyright: Ковалевский Владимир, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112021606261
Свидетельство о публикации №112021606261
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