That's how you give us, Lord, because we always don't have enough -
|
We have nothing for nothing - what we have, one would like more
|
And yet we don't have enough life or genius
|
To take advantage of the wealth of only the soul of the treasury
|
For this we torture the body as if it were eternal:
|
War effort pays with blood, then love is sprinkled;
|
Until and finally unfit for sleep than a cup;
|
It creaks, leaks and sighs, swells and sighs
|
God's bountiful gifts will no longer delight us
|
Because we are used to loving what we can draw from
|
Wisdom comes late
|
What is acceptable to want
|
But no regrets
|
What was not to be kept
|
It resembles parchment or calfskin
|
That even trees were known - what feathers scrape today
|
Apart from pennies and food and quick munchies
|
Man has always been tempted by the same riddles
|
Each of them matched with the Creator in its own way
|
And what he tormented himself, he spoiled the blood of others
|
He did not trust his own thoughts, he disgusted himself with life
|
He was afraid of his fear and ashamed of his shame
|
Or as we rejoiced - what? |
— he had no idea
|
And he died as wise as he was at the time of conception
|
Shake the professors crooked |
The living do not listen to the dead
|
They don't take out grandchildren
|
From the life of the grandfathers of science
|
Who is bored with virtues, distrustful of hope
|
Unsure of his steps - he sticks to the court
|
There, among the like-minded, one can make sense
|
And at the same time, believe in nothing, be unable to do anything:
|
The prelate rebukes drunkards - he himself is still red
|
The thief shakes the key to the Crown vault
|
The chancellor supports alliances in neighboring pay
|
And the wise men bow their heads in homage to stupidity
|
I know - because I was secretary to the king. |
By the time
|
When I preferred to bow to the authority of Czarnolas
|
The manor has its advantages:
|
In the chambers - women
|
The nobility sits in the councils -
|
There's just no one to talk to
|
Who could play and wasn't afraid to think
|
Old age is not afraid of him under a linden leaf
|
It's nice to meditate among the buzzing of bees over existence —
|
Will the crops turn out, and will the dick stop!
|
Will the country plunge again into universal discord?
|
Will you be able to see the last book in print in time
|
Which star in the sky is mine - the one that is falling
|
Is it the one over the horizon that rules the dawn?
|
So many near and far go away day after day |
And I live in years of wealth, which sweetens my decline...
|
The less you are every day, honey -
|
This makes you taste sweeter to me:
|
And the sun and the moon
|
The delight of insatiability
|
With the generosity of my days —
|
Thank you |