Поэтический перевод Эдуарда Асадова на английский

How many those, with whom you go to bed,
How few of those with whom you want to wake up...
And in the morning, loosing, turning back,
And wave with hand, and smile, and wait for news all day long...

How many those with whom you can just live,
And drinking morning coffee, talking, arguing ...
Who can go rest at sea, and, as expect- in joy, in sorrow would be near ...
But long ago forgot, what really love is...

How few of those with whom you want to dream!
And watching swarming clouds in gloomy heaven,
And write the words of love with snow which coming down to feel,
And think about only man in real,
And happiness with him in heaven...

How few of those with whom you can be quiet,
Who understand with only semi-glancing,
Who do not mind to give a year, by year - regret is out,
For whom you will be able, as reward,
To feel the pain, any penalty to take without dough sensing...

And so it winds this bother - rigmarole,
Like if it easy meet and break without being painful...
That's all because of many, many those,
With whom you go to bed,
And few of those with whom you want to wake up...

How many those with whom you go to bed ...
How few of those with whom you want to wake up ...
And life still winds this bother - rigmarole,
Just shifting us,
As speculating saucer sensing...

We rush through life: just work... just life ... just things ...
Who wants  to hear - still have to listen careful,
And running you will notice body shift
Just stay to see the soul inside the people sensing...

We choose with heart - the only way to mind ...
Sometimes we are afraid to smile on smile,
But soul would open only we to whom,
With whom we really want to wake up soon...