С удовольствием
Blessed art thou, my inconsolable pain!
Yesterday grey-eyed king went his last way.
The autumn evening was sultry and red,
Having come home, husband quietly said:
“You know, he was carried home from the hunt,
Body of his by the oak had been found.
So young he was - queen’s a pitiful sight...
Hair of her has turned grey in one night.”
Fireplace is where he found his pipe on
And for the matter of night work was gone.
My little daughter I’ll wake up at once
And at her grey eyes I will cast a glance.
Rustling are poplars somewhere in a row:
“Your king is gone, earth him bears no more…”