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Hírek

Keats, John: Oda jeseni (To Autumn Szerb nyelven)

Keats, John portréja

To Autumn (Angol)


Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or, by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.



Oda jeseni (Szerb)

Doba magle,doba berićeta štedra,
drugo zrelog sunca omiljena ti
da skupa blaženstvom ispunite nedra
lozi oko slamnog krova što se svi:
da jabuke pognu mahovinom grane
obrasle,da sočnost u plodu se stiče:
da krupnjaju tikve,lešnik letorast
da zajezgra slatko, i da stalno niče
pozno cveće,da bi pčele užurbano
pomislile da će večno trajat dane
toplo leto što im puni saća slast.
 
I ko te ne vide u obilju tvom?
Ponekad pronaći može tebe svet
gde nehajno sediš na guvnu žitnome
dok ti vejalica vije vlási splet;
il na nepožnjetoj brazdi, srpa vita
štedeć upleteno cveće sa svih strana,
gde mirisom bulki opijena sniš;
katakad gde pabirčis, poljem ponosita,
prelazeći potok klasjem ovenčana;
il gde uz muljaču jabuka stišana
satima nad samotokom bdiš.
 
Gde su sad proleća pesme zanesene?
Al ti svoj sklad imaš, ne misli na njih:
Dok nežnu smrt dana oblaci rumene
a strništa odsjaj ružičast i tih,
tada tugovanka komaraca laka
nad vrbama lebdi, čas jače čas tiše,
po tom kako vetrić živne ili mre;
i krupna već jagnjad bleje s brežuljaka;
cvrče iz živica popci što se skriše,
crvendać iz vrta zvižduće sve više,
cvrkutavo jato lasta nebom gre.



FeltöltőP. T.
Az idézet forrásahttp://feherilles.blogspot.hu

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