(à ïî÷åìó áû è íåò?;))
The forgotten wells are getting colder,
Heather’s faded for miles all around,
And I’m watching the yellow sun rolling
On the cold arch of sky to the ground
Loosing the rest of its warmth.
Granite mountainsides as black as nightveil,
And dry earth is of colour of blood,
And the amber eyes of lonely dragon
Are reflected by piece of cut-glass –
I guard this treasure so long.
Now I’m cursing this gold implacable
For the treacherous gleam of the warmth
And remembering her who at one time
Who at one time as winged was born…
But she is dead long ago…
But beyound seas and beyound mountains far away
Where people don’t see it, where gods don’t believe it,
There the last one of my own kin will simply then
Spread out his wings and his iron feathers,
And pattern drawn with scales will drive away at last
All the foul weather, passion’s incarnation,
Despite his doom he’s flying up in shiny clouds
Infinitely beautiful, terribly dangerous.
And this is only the best magic in the world,
The sun’s exculting on crestblade of dragon -
And that is all, and there is nothing on the earth
Except of heaven, eternal heaven…
And the heroes are sitting in shadow
Of the royal oak chambers at feast,
And with heady bowls they’re only bragging
They’d obtain secret treasure at least –
At latest Christmas it is!