Читать книгу Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin - Александр Сергеевич Пушкин, Александр Пушкин, Pushkin Aleksandr - Страница 45

Ye billows of blue Hadria’s sea,

O Brenta, once more we shall meet

And, inspiration firing me,

Your magic voices I shall greet,

Whose tones Apollo’s sons inspire,

And after Albion’s proud lyre

Possess my love and sympathy.

The nights of golden Italy

I’ll pass beneath the firmament,

Hid in the gondola’s dark shade,

Alone with my Venetian maid,

Now talkative, now reticent;

From her my lips shall learn the tongue

Of love which whilom Petrarch sung.