Alone and warming his five wits,

The white owl in the belfry sits.

II

When merry milkmaids click the latch,

And rarely smells the new-mown hay,

And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch

Twice or thrice his roundelay,

Twice or thrice his roundelay;

Alone and warming his five wits,

The white owl in the belfry sits.

СОВА НА КОЛОКОЛЬНЕ

Когда домой бегут коты,

И свет еще не стал теплом,

И ветер шевелит листы,

И мельница скрипит крылом —

И мельница скрипит крылом,

Одна, в броне своих обид,

Сова на колокольне спит.

Когда звенит надой в ведре,

И щелкает бичом пастух,

И сеном пахнет на дворе,

И в третий раз поет петух —

И в третий раз поет петух,

Одна, застыв, как нежива,

На колокольне спит сова.

Г. Кружков

‘MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH’

Move eastward, happy earth, and leave

Yon orange sunset waning slow:

From fringes of the faded eve,

O, happy planet, eastward go;

Till over thy dark shoulder glow

Thy silver sister-world, and rise

To glass herself in dewy eyes

That watch me from the glen below.

Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borne,

Dip forward under starry light,

And move me to my marriage-morn,

And round again to happy night.

КРУТИСЬ К ВОСТОКУ, ШАР ЗЕМНОЙ!

Крутись к востоку, шар земной! —

Спеши вперед, а не назад,

Оставив гаснуть за собой

Пустой оранжевый закат, —

Покуда над твоим плечом

Не замерцает сквозь эфир

Другой, отрадно кроткий, мир

Своим серебряным лучом.

Волшебный шар, неси меня

Сквозь звездный, пенистый прибой

К рассвету свадебного дня

И к брачной ночи голубой.

Г. Кружков

THE MAY QUEEN

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be

Queen o’ the May.

There’s many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There’s Margaret and Mary, there’s Kate and Caroline:

But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,

So I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be

Queen o’ the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break:

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be

Queen o’ the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see,

But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, —

But I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be

Queen o’ the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be

Queen o’ the May.

They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be:

They say his heart is breaking, mother — what is that to me?

There’s many a bolder lad ’ill woo me any summer day,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be