Дина Мария Крейк (Dinah Maria Craik) Текст оригинала на английском языке Violets SENT IN A LITTLE BOX. LET them lie, yes, let them lie, They'll be dead to-morrow: Lift the lid up quietly As you'd lift the mystery Of a shrouded sorrow. Let them lie, the fragrant things, Their sweet souls thus giving: Let no breezes' ambient wings, And no useless water-springs Lure them into living. They have lived--they live no more: Nothing can requite them For the gentle life they bore And up-yielded in full store While it did delight them. Yet, poor flowers, not sad to die In the hand that slew ye, Did ye leave the open sky, And the winds that wandered by, And the bees that knew ye. Giving up a small earth place, And a day of blooming, Here to lie in narrow space, Smiling in this sickly face, This dull air perfuming? O my pretty violets dead, Coffined from all gazes, We will also smiling shed Out of our flowers witherèd, Perfume of sweet praises. And as ye, for this poor sake, Love with life are buying, So, I doubt not, ONE will make All our gathered flowers to take Richer scent through dying. |
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