by William Blake (1757 - 1827)
Translation Singable translation © by Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov (1948 - 2020)

O Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Language: English 
Available translation(s): GER RUS
O Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! 

The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

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

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

  • CZE Czech (Čeština) (Jaroslav Vrchlický) , "Jaru"
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Dir, Lenz", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "К Весне", first published 1979, copyright ©, (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: 16
Word count: 127

К Весне
Language: Russian (Русский)  after the English 
Весна, росой ресниц блесни с небес
Сквозь голубые окна утра, брось
Взгляд ангела на запад - остров наш
Всем хором прославляет твой приход!

Холмы восклицают и долины
Внимают им; все взоры устремились ввысь
К шатрам твоим небесным: о Весна,
Приди священной поступью в наш край.

Сойди с восточных гор и дай ветрам
Увить твои одежды, дай вдохнуть
Твой аромат, жемчужины рассыпь
По плачущей, томящейся земле.

Ей перси поцелуями осыпь,
И лилейными перстами возложи
На томную главу венец златой
Той, что стыдливо косы расплела.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-02-15
Line count: 16
Word count: 83