The Cock is crowing,

                         The stream is flowing,

                         The small birds twitter,

                         The lake doth glitter,

                      The green field sleeps in the sun;

                         The oldest and youngest

                         Are at work with the strongest;

                         The cattle are grazing,

                         Their heads never raising;

                      There are forty feeding like one!

                         Like an army defeated

                         The snow hath retreated,

                         And now doth fare ill

                         On the top of the bare hill;

                      The ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon:

                         There's joy in the mountains;

                         There's life in the fountains;

                         Small clouds are sailing,

                         Blue sky prevailing;

                      The rain is over and gone!

                           Петух ликует,

                           Ручей воркует,

                           Щебечут птицы,

                           Вода искрится,

                           Земля ожидает зерна.

                           И старый, и малый

                           Бредет усталый.

                           На травке новой

                           Пасутся коровы,

                           Все тридцать жуют как одна.

                           Снегов остатки

                           Бегут в беспорядке,

                           И гибнет зима

                           На вершине холма,

                           И пахаря песня слышна, слышна.

                           В горах высоких

                           Звенят потоки.

                           А дождь как не был,

                           Синеет небо,

                           И тучи уносит весна.

                   I've watched you now a full half-hour,

                   Self-poised upon that yellow flower;

                   And, little Butterfly! indeed

                   I know not if you sleep or feed.

                   How motionless! — not- frozen seas

                   More motionless! and then

                   What joy awaits you, when the breeze

                   Hath found you out among the trees,

                   And calls you forth again!

                   This plot of orchard-ground is ours;

                   My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;

                   Here rest your wings when they are weary;

                   Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

                   Come often to us, fear no wrong;

                   Sit near us on the bough!

                   We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

                   And summer days, when we were young;

                   Sweet childish days, that were as long

                   As twenty days are now.

                       Над желтым наклонясь цветком,

                       Тобой, малюткой-мотыльком,

                       Я любовался и не знал,

                       Нектар вкушал ты или спал.

                       И был ты неподвижней вод

                                    объятых льдом морей.

                       Счастливым будет ли полет,

                       Когда внезапный ветр найдет

                                     тебя среди ветвей?

                       Останься с нами! Мы с сестрой

                       Тебе подарим садик свой.

                       Здесь отдохнут твои крыла.

                       Тебе не причиним мы зла!

                       Будь гостем нашим дорогим,

                              присядь на куст близ нас.

                       О детских днях поговорим,

                       Их летний свет неповторим,

                       И каждый долгим был — таким,

                               как двадцать дней сейчас.

                 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed

                 Their snow-white blossoms on my head,

                 With brightest sunshine round me spread

                    Of spring's unclouded weather,

                 In this sequestered nook how sweet

                 To sit upon my orchard-seat!

                 And birds and flowers once more to greet,

                    My last year's friends together.

                 One have I marked, the happiest guest

                 In all this covert of the blest:.

                 Hail to Thee, for above the rest

                    In joy of voice and pinion!

                 Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,

                 Presiding Spirit here to-day,

                 Dost lead the revels of the May;

                    And this is thy dominion.

                 While birds, aid butterflies, and flowers,

                 Make all one band of paramours,

                 Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,

                    Art sole in thy employment:

                 A Life, a Presence like the Air,

                 Scattering thy gladness without care,

                 Too blest with any one to pair;

                    Thyself thy own enjoyment.

                 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,

                 That twinkle to the gusty breeze,

                 Behold him perched in ecstasies,

                    Yet seeming still to hover;

                 There! where the flutter of his wings

                 Upon his back and body flings

                 Shadows and sunny glimmerings,

                    That cover him all over.

                 My dazzled sight he oft deceives,

                 A Brother of the dancing leaves;

                 Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves

                    Pours forth his song in gushes;

                 As if by that exulting strain

                 He mocked and treated with disdain

                 The voiceless Form he chose to feign,

                    While fluttering in the bushes.