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

O thou who passest thro' our valleys in
Language: English 
Available translation(s): RUS
O thou who passest thro' our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched'st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair. 

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o'er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam'd who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

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Authorship

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) , "Létu"
  • RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "К Лету", 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: 19
Word count: 154

К Лету
Language: Russian (Русский)  after the English 
О Лето, обуздай своих коней,
Умерь их знойного дыханья жар,
Когда ты мчишся по долинам нашим!
Когда среди дубов в шатре златом
Ты сладко дремлешь, любо нам смотреть
На щёк румянец и волос извивы.

В тенистых рощах голос твой звенит
В тот час, когда скользит по небесам
На колеснице полдень; о подойди,
Садись к ручью на мшистые луга,
На берега реки прозрачной, сбрось
Шелка одежды и войди скорей
В раскрытые объятья нежных волн.

У наших бардов струны сладкозвучны,
А наши парни посильней южан,
И девы наши в танцах веселей.
Здесь столько песен, эха средь холмов,
Ручьёв кристальных и венков лавровых,
Хранящих нас от зноя твоего!

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Authorship

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-02-15
Line count: 19
Word count: 105