Поиск по заголовкам произведений. Cлово "ROSE". Классическая русская литература.

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Сайт: http://pushkin-lit.ru Размер: 3кб.

Часть текста: Stances ("Avez-vous vu la tendre rose...") STANCES Avez-vous vu la tendre rose, L'aimable fille d'un beau jour, Quand au printemps à peine éclose, Elle est l'image de l'amour? Telle à nos yeux, plus belle encore, Parut Eudoxie aujourd'hui; Plus d'un printemps la vit éclore, Charmante et jeune comme lui. Mais, hélas! les vents, les tempêtes, Ces fougueux enfants de l'hiver, Bientôt vont gronder sur nos têtes, Enchaîner l'eau, la terre et l'air. Et plus de fleurs, et plus de rose! L'aimable fille des amours Tombe fanée, à peine éclose; Il a fui, le temps des beaux jours! Eudoxie! aimez, le temps presse; Profitez de vos jours heureux! Est-ce dans la froide vieillesse Que de l'amour on sent les feux? {См. перевод} Переводы иноязычных текстов СТАНСЫ Видали ль вы нежную розу, Любезную дочь ясного дня, Когда весной, едва расцветши, Она является образом любви? Такою пред нашими взорами, но еще прекраснее, Ныне явилась Евдокия; Не раз видела весна, как она расцветала, Прелестная и юная, подобно ей самой. Но увы! ветры и бури, Эти лютые дети зимы, Скоро зашумят над нашими головами. Окуют воду, землю и воздух. И вот уж нет цветов, и нет розы! Любезная дочь любви, Завянув, падает, едва расцветшая: Миновала пора ясных дней! Евдокия! любите! Время не терпит; Пользуйтесь вашими счастливыми днями! В хладной ли старости Дано нам ведать пыл любви? (Франц.) Примечания STANCES. Avez-vous vu la tendre rose. По воспоминаниям лицейских товарищей Пушкина, это одно из первых стихотворений, написанных Пушкиным в Лицее (равно как и следующее). Известно, что еще в семье, до поступления в Лицей, Пушкин по примеру своего отца писал французские стихи.

Сайт: http://severyanin.lit-info.ru Размер: 1кб.

Часть текста: Classical Roses Classical Roses Once, when the dreams would bloom - the times were those - In peoples hearts, transparent and aflame, How fresh, how beautiful have been the roses Of my love, of my spring, and of my fame! The years have passed, many a tear flows - The country and its people all are lost. How fresh, how beautiful are now the roses Of memories of my delightful past! But days go by, and thunders in repose. Russia is seeking pathways to go home. How fresh, how beautiful will be the roses That my country will throw upon my tomb!

Сайт: http://garshin.lit-info.ru Размер: 17кб.

Часть текста: The prickly thistles grew to such a size on the rich moist soil (all around the flower-garden was a large shady orchard) that they looked almost like trees. The yellow moth mulleins reared their flowery spikes still higher. The nettles occupied a pretty large corner of the flower-garden; they stung, of course, but then one could admire their dark foliage from a distance, especially when it made a background for the pale beauty of the delicate rose petals. The rose blossomed one fine May morning; when it opened out its petals the fleeing morning dew left several bright teardrops upon them. It seemed as if the rose was weeping. But the world around her was so beautiful, so clear and sunny on that lovely morning when first she saw the blue sky, and felt the fresh morning breeze, and the beams of the radiant sun shone through her delicate petals with a rosy light; and it was so quiet and peaceful in the flower-garden, that if she could have wept, she would have done so, not through sadness but through the sheer joy of living. She could not speak; all she could do was to nod her dainty head and spread around her a delicate fragrance, and in that fragrance was her speech, her tears, and her prayer. Meanwhile, between the roots of the bush on the damp ground below-as if clinging to it on his flat stomach-sat a fairly fat old toad, who, after having hunted worms and midges all night, had sat down towards the morning to rest from his labours, choosing for the purpose a nice damp and shady spot. He sat with hooded eyes and you could hardly tell that he was breathing; his dingy-grey, warty, sticky sides worked like bellows, and one ugly webbed foot stuck out on one side-he was too lazy to draw it in under his belly. He found no pleasure in the morning, the sunshine or the fine weather; he had eaten his fill and was going to have a nap. But when the breeze dropped for a moment and the scent of the rose was not wafted away, the toad smelt it, and felt...

Поиск по заголовкам произведенийCлово "ROSE"

Поиск по заголовкам произведений
Cлово "ROSE"