Translation © by Sergey Rybin

Не ветер, вея с высоты
Language: Russian (Русский) 
Available translation(s): ENG ENG FRE
Не ветер, вея с высоты,
Листов коснулся ночью лунной.
Моей души коснулась ты.
Она тревожна, как листы,
Она, как гусли, многострунна.

Житейский вихрь её терзал
И сокрушительным набегом,
Свистя и воя, струны рвал
И заносил холодным снегом.

Твоя же речь ласкает слух,
Твоё легко прикосновенье,
Как от цветов летящий пух,
Как майской ночи дуновенье.

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Note on Transliterations

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

  • Also set in French (Français), a translation by Jules Ruelle (1834 - 1892) ; composed by Akhilles Nikolayevich Alferaki.
  • Also set in French (Français), a translation by G. Jorissenne ; composed by Nikolay Vladimirovich Shcherbachev.
  • Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by R. Jurgenson ; composed by Nikolai Nikolayevich Amani.
  • Also set in Italian (Italiano), a translation by S. Gentile ; composed by Nikolai Nikolayevich Amani.

Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Laura Prichard) , "It was not the wind", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Sergey Rybin) , copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Ce n'est pas le vent qui souffle des hauteurs", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 13
Word count: 54

Not the wind blowing from on high
Language: English  after the Russian (Русский) 
Not the wind blowing from on high
Has touched the leaves in the moonlit night - 
My soul has been touched by you:
It is aflutter, like the leaves, 
It is as sensitive as the lyre's strings.
 
The blizzard of life was tearing it apart, 
And with the crushing attack, 
Whistling and howling, tore the strings, 
And covered my soul with icy snow;

But your voice caresses my hearing, 
Your touch is as light
As the down flying from the flowers, 
Like a breeze of the May night.

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Authorship

  • Translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Sergey Rybin, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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This text was added to the website: 2017-01-14
Line count: 13
Word count: 88