Сонет 99 Мой Шекспир

Воришек милых полон дивный сад:
Украден у дыхания любви
Фиалки ранней сладкий аромат,
На щечках мягких алый цвет крови,
Пурпур надменный, белоснежный хлад.
Вот лилия – подобие руки,
Бутоны майорана – волоса,
Две розы так испуганно близки,
Стыдливо красная и белая краса.
А третья не сумела выбрать цвет -
Украла два, и нежный аромат.
За воровство наказана в ответ,
В ней червоточины смертельный яд.

Цветы, я видел - хороши собой,
Но цвет и аромат украли твой.

 

The forward violet thus did I chide:
'Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.'
The lily I condemnd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair;
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both,
And to his robb'ry had annexed thy breath,
But for his theft in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.

Sonnet 99 by William Shakespeare