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Pierre Jean de Beranger

QU'ELLE  EST  JOLIE!

    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie
    Celle que j'aimerai toujours!
    Dans leur douce mélancolie
    Ses yeux font rêver aux amours.
    Du plus beau souffle de la vie
    À l'animer le ciel se plaît.
    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et moi, je suis, je suis si laid!
    Grands dieux, combien elle est jolie!

    Elle compte au plus vingt printemps.
    Sa bouche est fraîche épanouie;
    Ses cheveux sont blonds et flottants.
    Par mille talents embellie,
    Seule elle ignore ce qu'elle est.
    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et moi, je suis, je suis si laid!

    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et cependant j'en suis aimé.
    J'ai dû long-temps porter envie
    Aux traits dont le sexe est charmé.
    Avant qu'elle enchantât ma vie,
    Devant moi l'amour s'envolait.
    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et moi, je suis, je suis si laid!

    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et pour moi ses feux sont constants.
    La guirlande qu'elle a cueillie
    Ceint mon front chauve avant trente ans.
    Voiles qui parez mon amie,
    Tombez; mon triomphe est complet.
    Grands dieux! Combien elle est jolie!
    Et moi, je suis, je suis si laid!


Poetic translation

HOW FAIR SHE IS


Ye gods! she is so fair, so sweet,
I've cast my life beneath her feet;
In her deep, melancholy eyes
All love's raptured languor lies;
Gentle zephyrs, blowing round her,
With their choicest sweets have crown'd her;
She's fair as morning's rosy light,
Whilst I am gloomy as the night.

Ye gods ! she is so fair, so sweet,
I've cast my life beneath her feet;
The tinge upon her golden hair
Gleams as tho' sunset loiter'd there;
Clever she is in all but this,
She scarcely knows how fair she is;
She's fair as morning's rosy light,
Whilst I am gloomy as the night.

Ye gods! she is so fair, so sweet,
I've cast my life beneath her feet;
Tho' love had been my fondest dream,
And woman's charms my favorite theme,
Before she brighten'd up my heart
Love fled away, or kept apart;
She's fair as morning's rosy light,
Whilst I am gloomy as the night.

Ye gods! she is so fair, so sweet,
I've cast my life beneath her feet --
A life of barely thirty years,
And yet how old with doubts and fears,
Until with love, and hope, and truth,
She seem'd to bring me back my youth;
For she was fair as morning's light,
Whilst I was gloomy as the night. 

Love's Emblems 

NOW the lusty spring is seen;
    Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
    Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing as they blow
    And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
    Woodbines of sweet honey full:
        All love's emblems, and all cry,
        'Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die.'

Yet the lusty spring hath stay'd;
    Blushing red and purest white
    Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow,
    And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
    Winding gently to the waist:
        All love's emblems, and all cry,
        'Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die.'

Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

In qual parte del cielo, in quale idea
era l'esempio, onde natura tolse
quel bel viso leggiadro, in ch' ella volse
mostrar qua giù quanto lassù potea ?
qual ninfa in fonti, in selve mai qual dea
chiome d' oro si fino a l' aura sciolse ?
quando un cor tante in se vertuti accolse ?
benchè la somma è di mia morte rea.

Per divina bellezza indarno mira,
chi gli occhi de costei già mai non vide,
come soavemente ella gli gira.
Non sa come Amor sana e come ancide
chi non sa come dolce ella sospira,
e come dolce parla e dolce ride.

Poetic translation

In what celestial sphere, by whom inspired,
Did Nature find the cast from which she drew
This lovely face wherein she hath aspired
To manifest below what Heaven can do?
Upon the breeze these tresses of pure gold
What goddess of the woods, what water-fay
Hath lavished thus ? What other heart could hold
These virtues which have made my life their prey?

Of godly beauty he is unaware
Who hath not gazed into my Lady's eyes,
Nor gathered her sweet glances here on earth;
He knoweth not Love's Hell nor Paradise
Who never heard her sighs as light as air,
The gentle music of her speech and mirth. 

Александр Блок
    

НЕЗНАКОМКА
    

По вечерам над ресторанами
Горячий воздух дик и глух,
И правит окриками пьяными
Весенний и тлетворный дух.

Вдали над пылью переулочной,
Над скукой загородных дач,
Чуть золотится крендель булочной,
И раздается детский плач.

И каждый вечер, за шлагбаумами,
Заламывая котелки,
Среди канав гуляют с дамами
Испытанные остряки.

Над озером скрипят уключины
И раздается женский визг,
А в небе, ко всему приученный
Бесмысленно кривится диск.

И каждый вечер друг единственный
В моем стакане отражен
И влагой терпкой и таинственной
Как я, смирен и оглушен.

А рядом у соседних столиков
Лакеи сонные торчат,
И пьяницы с глазами кроликов
"In vino veritas!"* кричат.

И каждый вечер, в час назначенный
(Иль это только снится мне?),
Девичий стан, шелками схваченный,
В туманном движется окне.
И медленно, пройдя меж пьяными,
Всегда без спутников, одна
Дыша духами и туманами,
Она садится у окна.

И веют древними поверьями
Ее упругие шелка,
И шляпа с траурными перьями,
И в кольцах узкая рука.

И странной близостью закованный,
Смотрю за темную вуаль,
И вижу берег очарованный
И очарованную даль.

Глухие тайны мне поручены,
Мне чье-то солнце вручено,
И все души моей излучины
Пронзило терпкое вино.

И перья страуса склоненные
В моем качаются мозгу,
И очи синие бездонные
Цветут на дальнем берегу.

В моей душе лежит сокровище,
И ключ поручен только мне!
Ты право, пьяное чудовище!
Я знаю: истина в вине.

_____________________________________
* In vino veritas! -- Истина -- в вине! (лат.)



Poetic translation

THE LADY UNKNOWN

Of evenings hangs above the restaurant
A humid, wild and heavy air.
The Springtime spirit, brooding, pestilent,
Commands the drunken outcries there.

Far off, above the alley's mustiness,
Where bored gray summerhouses lie,
The baker's sign swings gold through dustiness,
And loud and shrill the children cry.

Beyond the city stroll the exquisites,
At every dusk and all the same:
Their derbies tilted back, the pretty wits
Are playing at the ancient game.

Upon the lake but feebly furious
Soft screams and creaking oar-locks sound.
And in the sky, blase, incurious,
The moon beholds the earthly round.

And every evening, dazed and serious,
I watch the same procession pass;
In liquor, raw and yet mysterious,
One friend is mirrored in my glass.

Beside the scattered tables, somnolent
And dreary waiters stick around.
"In vino verltas!" shout violent
And red-eyed fools in liquor drowned.

And every evening, strange, immutable,
(Is it a dream no waking proves?)
As to a rendezvous inscrutable
A silken lady darkly moves.

She slowly passes by the drunken ones
And lonely by the window sits;
And from her robes, above the sunken ones,
A misty fainting perfume flits.

Her silks' resilience, and the tapering
Of her ringed fingers, and her plumes,
Stir vaguely like dim incense vaporing,
Deep ancient faiths their mystery illumes.

I try, held in this strange captivity,
To pierce the veil that darkling falls--
I see enchanted shores' declivity,
And an enchanted distance calls.

I guard dark secrets' tortuosities.
A sun is given me to hold.
An acrid wine finds out the sinuosities
That in my soul were locked of old.

And in my brain the soft slow flittering
Of ostrich feathers waves once more;
And fathomless the azure glittering
Where two eyes blossom on the shore.

My soul holds fast its treasure renitent,
The key is safe and solely mine.
Ah, you are right, drunken impenitent!
I also know: truth lies in wine.