Poezii de vara in limba engleza | Poeme englezesti traduse in romana

Am cules aceste cateva poeme in limba engleza din multe altele , poate la fel de frumoase.In incercarea (zadarnica) de a reda cate ceva din parfumul si muzicalitatea versurilor englezesti am incropit , stangace , si niste traduceri. A iesit ceea ce vedeti ....

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
, by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Sa te aseman oare cu o zi de vara ? / Sonetul XVIII
, de William Shakespeare

Sa te aseman oare cu o zi de vara ?
Tu esti mai dulce si mai temperata .
Bobocii lunii mai de vant sunt prigoniti din cale-afara ,
Si-arenda verii prea din timp ne este luata.
Din cand in cand , prea calda vremea raiului straluce ,
Si prea ades faptura-i aurita se incetoseaza ,
Si fiecare frumusete din frumos se duce
Prin greseala sau schimbatoarea cale a naturii , breaza.
Dar vara ta nu se vesteji vreodata
Si nici vei pierde din a farmecelor stralucire ,
Nici moartea fala n-o avea pe fiinta ta sa puna pata ,
Caci doar prin vesnicie iti afli implinire .
Atat cat oamenii vor respira sau vor avea privire
Atat cat astea vor trai , prin ele viata-n tine va gasi menire.

Summer Sun
, by Robert Louis Stevenson

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

Soare de vara
, de Robert Louis Stevenson

Maret e soarele , imens si orbitor ,
Prin cerurile goale umbla-ncetisor ,
Si-n zilele senine , luminoase ,
Mai des ca ploaia razele-si descoase.

Desi obloanele le coboram spre soare
Pentru a tine odaia in racoare ,
El va afla o crapatura , doua-n care
De aur degetele sa-si strecoare.

In podul de paienjanisuri plin coboara ,
Prin gaura de cheie se strecoara ,
Si printr-un colt de tigla faramata
In grajd el zambetu-si arata.

In vremea asta , fata sa cea plina
Cuprinde tot ce e-n gradina ,
Si-mprastie o calda , lucie privire
Prin iedera ascunsa -n fire.

Prin dealuri si pe-al lor azur afund
Da roata-n cer sclipind , c-un adevar profund ,
Copilul sa il bucure si rozei sa-i dea umbra ,
El , gradinarul lumii astfel se preumbla.

Moonlight, summer moonlight
, by Emily Bronte

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

Clar de luna , clar de luna de vara
, de Emily Bronte

Clar de luna , clar de luna de vara ,
Totul e diafan , frumos , plin de soapte ,
Respira dulce-n tot ce e afara
Solemna ora a miezului de noapte.

Dar mai ales se simte-n arbori , trimitand
Spre inaltime ramuri parfumate ,
Sau in a trunchiurilor aplecate , imprumutand
Acoperis sub cerurile instelate.

In mijlocul acestor salbatice frunzare ,
O preafrumoasa faptura sta culcata ,
Iarba cea verde si lujerii cu roua-n floare
Bland se coboara spre capul de fata.

Tis the Last Rose of Summer
, by Thomas Moore

Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone:
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

Acesta-i al verii ultim trandafir
, de Thomas Moore

Acesta-i al verii ultim trandafir ,
Ramas inflorit , solitar ,
Frumosii lui tovarasi , cu totii ,
Sunt vesteji acum , fara har.
Nu mai e vreo alta floare surata ,
Nici un boboc de roza plapanda ,
Sa-i reflecte-napoi imbujorarea ,
La suspin , cu suspin sa-i raspunda.
Nu te-oi lasa pe tine , singuratic,
Sa te usuci pe-a ta tulpina .
De vreme ce frumosii-ti frati au atipit ,
Te du si dormi cu dansii, fara vina.
Eu cu blandete -apoi voi risipi
Frunzele tale pe pamant ,
Acolo unde tovarasii -n gradina
Fara parfum zac , ca-n mormant.
Curand , voi veni si eu dupa tine ,
Caci prietenia incet se farama ,
Iar din a iubirii diadema
Nestematele cad in tarana.
Atunci cand dragostea paleste
Si cei dragi ne parasesc pe vecie ,
Vai ! Cine ar mai putea trai
Singur in lumea asta pustie ?

As Summer into Autumn slips
, by Emily Dickinson

As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved --

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.

O vara-n toamna alene se strecoara
, de Emily Dickinson

O vara-n toamna alene se strecoara
Si noi , in graba-i spunem , cu infrigurare,
"Vara" , si nu "toamna" ,
Ca nu cumva sa-l alungam pe soare.

Si-apare chiar ca o sfidare
Sa-ncuviintam sosirea altui anotimp ,
Frumos si el , dar care
Nu este acela preiubit.

Si-astfel fugim de-a anilor povara
Intr-o timida incercare
De-a insela menirea vietii
Ce , zi de zi , in jos ne trage .

Village in Late Summer
, by Carl Sandburg

LIPS half-willing in a doorway.
Lips half-singing at a window.
Eyes half-dreaming in the walls.
Feet half-dancing in a kitchen.
Even the clocks half-yawn the hours
And the farmers make half-answers.

Sat in vara tarzie
, de Carl Sandburg

Buze deschise pe jumatate in pragul usii ,
Buze pe jumatate cantand in fereastra .
Ochii pe jumatate inchisi de visare spre pereti ,
Picioare dansand pe jumatate in bucatarie .
Chiar si pendulul inghite orele pe jumatate ,
Iar taranii iti dau jumatate de raspunsuri.

Traducere din limba engleza Copyright © diane.ro

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