http://www.ruthenia.ru/tiutcheviana/...enniagroza.mp3 Читает А. Кутепов


Весенняя гроза

Люблю грозу в начале мая,
Когда весенний, первый гром,
Как бы резвяся и играя,
Грохочет в небе голубом.

Гремят раскаты молодые,
Вот дождик брызнул, пыль летит,
Повисли перлы дождевые,
И солнце нити золотит.

С горы бежит поток проворный,
В лесу не молкнет птичий гам,
И гам лесной, и шум нагорный –
Всё вторит весело громам.

Ты скажешь: ветреная Геба,
Кормя Зевесова орла,
Громокипящий кубок с неба,
Смеясь, на землю пролила.

<1828>, начало 1850-х годов



A Spring Storm


I love May's first storms:
chuckling, sporting spring
grumbles in mock anger;
young thunder claps,
a spatter of rain and flying dust
and wet pearls hanging
threaded by sun-gold;
a speedy current scampers from the hills.
Such a commotion in the woods!
Noises cartwheel down the mountains.
Every sound is echoed round the sky.
You'd think capricious Hebe,
feeding the eagle of Zeus,
had raised a thunder-foaming goblet,
unable to restrain her mirth,
and tipped it on the earth.
A Spring Storm


I love a thunder – storm at the beginning of May ,
when spring’s first thunder,
as though play , in a frolic ,
rumbles in the blue sky.
The young peals of thunder rattle.
Now it is drizzling,
dust is flying, pearls are hanging,
and the sun is gilding the treads.
A swift torrent rushes down the hill,
The birds’ clamour in the wood does not cease;
The clamour in the woods and the noise on the hillside
All gaily echo the thunder – claps.
You will say inconstant Hebe,
while feeding Zeus’s eagle,
laughing , emptied a cup seething with thunder
from heaven on to the earth
(Дм. Оболенский, источник)
A Spring Storm


I love a thunder-storm in May
When here the first spring’s early thunder,
As though a joyful part of play,
Roars in the blue sky in its grandeur.
Being strong and young, it’s thundering,
Look, rain has started, dust is flying,
The rainy pearls have hung as strings,
The sun is gilding threads by smiling.
A stream runs quickly down the hill,
The birds of wood don’t cease songs’ wonders,
And whistle from wood and sound of rill
Both gaily echo to the thunders... It’s carefree Hebe, you may say,
When feeding Zeus’s noble eagle,
Below her on the earth’s huge tray
Has spilled a cup, it makes her giggle.